overs 


—Rosalynde  Banderet flitted  to  and  fro 
a  bright  and  lissome  figure,  sweetly 
suggestive  of  heliotrope 
and  violet 


IFith   Drawings  by 
G.  Aldcn  Fcirson 


Indianapolis: 

The  Bowcn -Merrill   Company 
Publishers 


Copyright,   1901,    J.   B,   Lippincott  Company. 
Copyright.   2901,    The  Bo-Men-Merrill  Company. 


PRESS  OF 

BRAUNWORTH  &  CO. 

BOOKBINDERS  AND  PRINTERS 

BROOKLYN,  N.  V. 


M2938Q3 


Rosalynde  Banderet  flitted  to  and  fro, 
a  bright  and  lissome  figure,  sweetly 
suggestive  of  heliotrope  and  violet 

Frontispiece 

Breyten  saw  a  girl  half  kneeling  upon 
the  ground  10 

A  large  house  attracted  his  attention— 
a  stately  structure  surrounded  with 
wide-armed  forest  trees  30 

Can  I  ever  learn? — Can  I  finally  be  an 
artist  4° 

Breyten  was  not  prepared  for  the  ap 
parition  of  Miss  Banderet  in  the  hall  50 


The  light  shone  upon  the  forlorn  stair 
way  leading  to  Rayle's  studio  140 

Through  the  bars  of  the  iron  gate 
shimmers  the  greenery  of  a  gar 
den  162 

"And  now  what?"  said  Angelie,  gaz 
ing  after  her  cousin  168 

"I  am  Angelie/'  she  said,  "and  you  are 
Mr.  Rayle  and  have  made  yourself 
ridiculous"  194 

"Now,"  he  said,  "we  will  give  any  in 
truder  a  cold  stare  of  repulse''  221 

<rNo,"  she  said  from  somewhere  deep 
in  his  arms  246 


Upon  a  broad  highway,  straight  and 
smooth,  between  ample  farms,  where  the 
cheerful  activities  of  spring  sent  forth  a 
medley  of  noises  very  pleasant  to  hear,  a 
young  man  rode  his  bicycle  with  leisurely 
strokes.  The  small  case  of  alligator  leath 
er  on  the  handle-bar  looked  a  trifle  worn, 
as  if  it  had  felt  hard  usage,  the  rain,  sun, 
and  dust  of  a  long  journey.  From  New 
York  City  to  the  mid-region  of  Indiana  is 
not,  indeed,  a  short  wheel-spin ;  moreover, 
the  weather  had  been  showrery  almost  the 
whole  of  the  way,  making  the  roads 


heavy.  Now,  however,  a  perfect  morn 
ing  late  in  April  was  hanging  a  splendid 
sheen  of  beauty  on  sky  and  landscape. 

Frederick  Breyten,  the  rider,  despite  his 
many  days  of  steady  exercise,  looked 
fresh  and  cheerful.  He  was  a  man  of 
greater  weight  than  long-distance  trav 
eling  awheel  usually  attracts;  yet  his 
limbs  showed  boyish  suppleness,  while 
his  slightly  curved  back  rippled  with 
a  fine  play  of  muscles.  Steering  with 
one  hand,  the  other  thrust  into  the 
pocket  of  his  short  coat,  he  gazed  right 
and  left  over  the  greening  fields.  There 
was  a  ruddy  underglow  in  his  cheeks,  his 
curly,  short  hair  shot  a  glint  of  gold  from 
under  the  rim  of  his  cap,  and  his  face  had 
a  Norwegian  suggestion  in  its  fairness, 
strengthened  somewhat  by  a  peculiar  yet 
not  uncomely  forward  thrust  of  his  rather 
heavy  chin,  which  bore  a  rimpled  yellow 


beard,  short,  fine,  and  not  very  thick,  run 
ning  thence  up  to  his  ears ;  and  his  mus 
taches  but  half  veiled  his  mouth. 

He  had  come  out  of  Indianapolis  by  the 
Hawford  Road  at  sunrise;  now  the  city 
lay  ten  miles  behind  him.  There  was 
every  temptation  to  fast  riding.  Straight 
away,  hard  as  packed  gravel  could  make 
it,  the  road  reached,  white,  smooth,  level, 
without  dust,  a  glimmering,  narrowing 
line  to  where  it  pitched  gently  down  from 
a  slight,  hazy  ridge-top  into  a  wooded  val 
ley.  But  Breyten,  albeit  not  averse  now 
and  again  to  a  wild  scorch,  lagged  while 
his  gray  eyes  fed  upon  what  the  landscape 
had  to  offer. 

The  morning  passed.  He  looked  at 
his  watch;  it  was  a  quarter  past  one. 
The  air  had  a  thrill  of  heat  in  it,  a 
premature  touch  of  summer.  By  the 
wayside,  on  the  slope  of  a  grassy  hill 
3 


near  a  noisy  little  brook,  a  spring  trickled 
forth  with  a  chill  suggestion  in  its  crystal 
current.  Here  he  dismounted  and  ate  his 
simple  luncheon,  drawn  from  a  corner  of 
the  alligator-skin  case,  where  it  had  been 
closely  associated  with  two  or  three  little 
dog-eared  books.  The  meal  ended,  he 
stretched  himself  on  the  blue-grass  under 
a  greening  willow.  Five  minutes  later  he 
was  sleeping,  with  an  arm  curved  above 
his  head. 

About  five  o'clock  Breyten  resumed  his 
journey  towards  Hawford,  going  briskly, 
with  a  blue  violet  between  his  lips.  The 
air,  drawing  from  the  southwest,  had  sud 
denly  touched  his  face  with  a  dampness 
meaning  rain  not  far  off;  and  he  saw  a 
bluish-black  cloud  spreading  upward  un 
der  the  westering  sun. 


April  showers  had  so  often  sprinkled 
Brey ten's  back  lately  that  the  prospect  of 
another  chill  dash  did  not  give  him  uneasi 
ness,  nor  was  there  anything  especially 
threatening  in  the  keen  spears  of  flame 
shot  down  now  and  again  from  the  cloud 
with  rattling  thunder. 

When  the  cloud,  now  tumbling  along 
with  a  motion  like  the  undertow  of  a  dan 
gerous  surf,  had  risen  about  half  way  to 
the  zenith,  Breyten  saw  a  girl  on  a  bicycle 
'whirl  with  a  short  swift  curve  out  of  a 
road  tributary  to  his,  a  hundred  yards 
5 


ahead.  She  flew  straight  away  from  him, 
a  beaming  embodiment  of  haste,  some 
thing  birdlike  in  her  motions  and  in  the 
flashes  of  color  from  her  clothes  suggest 
ing  the  wing-movements  of  a  frightened 
oriole. 

Breyten  involuntarily  quickened  his 
pace  as  she  began  to  draw  away  from  him. 
He  found  that  she  was  going,  indeed,  at  a 
racing  gait,  and  against  a  rising  wind, 
while  her  fluttering  skirts,  somehow 
showing  her  well-turned  ankles  and  little 
feet,  gave  forth  a  twinkle  of  yellow  and 
brown.  The  cap  she  \vore  had  a  black- 
and-orange  feather-tuft  lying  flat  at  the 
left  side  with  demure,  effect;  not  that 
Breyten  could  make  out  just  its  form  and 
color,  but  a  sense  of  these  came  along 
with  the  memory  of  how  softly  turned, 
and  how  like  a  berry  in  its  rich  under- 
glow,  her  cheek  had  looked  when  she 
6. 


rounded  into  the  road.  He  smiled  so 
much  that  he  let  fall  the  blue  violet  from 
his  lips. 

Jerky  whiffs  of  wind  smote  harder  and 
faster  in  the  rider's  glowing  face ;  the 
girl's  skirts  flickered  through  puffs  of 
road-dust,  and  by  some  indirect  ray  of  ex 
pression  from  that  exquisitely  poised 
form  slipping  away  before  him,  Breyten 
knew  that  the  girl  was  frightened;  he 
could  almost  see  her  shrink  when  the 
thunder  drummed  on  the  hollow  floor  of 
heaven. 

He  now  bent  low  over  his  handle-bar, 
arching  his  back  high,  stretching  forth  his 
Antinous  neck,  and  driving  the  pedals  so 
rapidly  that  the  tires  purred,  spinning 
the  pebbles  to  right  and  left.  At  this  mo 
ment  the  puffs  all  combined  into  a  head 
wind,  a  gale  almost  like  a  hurricane  driv 
ing  the  level  stream  of  dust  into  Brey ten's 
7 


eyes,  and  then  the  front  wheel  hit  a 
boulder  as  large  as  his  head.  It  seemed 
to  him  that  he  sailed  a  long  way  before  he 
struck  the  ground ;  he  had  many  thoughts 
while  spread  out  bat-like  in  the  gloomy, 
raging  air,  and  his  flight  ended  in  a 
shock  amid  a  great  spangle  of  starry 
coruscations.  His  bicycle  climbed  along 
his  back  to  his  shoulders,  where  it  settled 
stiffly  upon  him,  as  if  conscious  of  hav 
ing  the  right  to  caress  him. 

The  surprise  was  about  all  there  was  in 
the  mishap  to  disturb  Breyten's  faun-like 
equanimity;  but  he  groveled  ludicrously 
in  the  dust  for  awhile,  uttering  certain 
virile  exclamations. 

After  ten  minutes  of  toilsome  headway 
Breyten  found  himself  in  a  little  valley 
through  which  a  stream,  half  brook,  half 
river,  ran  crookedly,  but  in  a  general  di 
rection  at  right  angles  with  his  road.  A 
8 


wooden  bridge  spanned  the  water.  Here 
he  paused,  breathing  as  much  dust  as  air. 
A  roaring  came  out  of  the  southwest,  as  if 
some  great,  hoarse  throat  were  gasping 
strenuously. 

Breyten  shrugged  his  shoulders ;  then, 
lifting  his  bicycle,  he  made  a  dash  down 
the  stream's  bank  and  went  under  the 
bridge,  where  he  groped  around  for  the 
most  eligible  place  in  which  he  might 
shelter  himself  from  the  shower  of  tree- 
boughs,  falling  noisily.  It  was  almost 
pitch  dark  in  the  hollow  of  the  crib-work 
wooden  abutment,  a  stuffy  nook,  just 
above  the  water  level,  with  great  oaken 
sills  half  sunk  in  the  mud,  while  overhead 
the  floor  of  the  bridge  served  as  roof. 

Hastily  disposing  of  his  bicycle,  Brey 
ten  felt  with  his  hands  for  a  spot  to  sit 
upon.  While  he  fumbled  thus  there  came 
a  blinding  white  flash  down  from  heaven 
9 


to  earth  with  a  crash,  as  if  all  things  had 
been  ground  instantly  together  into  splin- 
.  ters. 

"Oh-o-o!"  wailed  a  tremulous,  sweet 
voice;  and  at  the  same  time  Breyten's 
hands  clutched  something  soft  and  warm. 
"Let  go !  Oh-o-o !  Oh-o-o !''  continued  the 
voice. 

By  the  fierce  light,  which  seemed  to 
linger  with  a  wavering,  filmy  intensity, 
like  the  sun  itself,  Breyten  saw  a  girl,  and 
recognized  her  as  the  one  who  had  fled 
before  him.  She  was  sitting,  half  kneel 
ing,  upon  the  ground,  her  face  like  a 
saint's  at  prayer.  Her  bicycle  lay  beside 
her;  so  much  he  saw  in  a  twinkling,  and 
the  vision  registered  itself  within  him,  a 
luminous  and  fadeless  picture. 

He  had  withdrawn  his  hand  from  her 
soft  shoulder ;  but  when  the  darkness  fol 
lowed  the  flash,  doubly  black  by  contrast, 
10 


— Breyten  saw  a  girl  half  k  nee  ling 
upon  the  ground 


and  he  heard  her  wail  piteously,  he  felt 
around,  trying  to  touch  her  again. 

"Don't  be  frightened/'  he  said  very 
gently ;  "it  is  safe  here.  And  don't  you  be 
afraid  of  me.  I — " 

He  was  interrupted  by  another  flash  of 
indescribable  splendor  and  a  detonation 
that  made  the  ground  oscillate.  Some 
thing  forced  him  to  his  knees,  but  he 
sprang  up  instantly;  for  a  moment  he 
thought  the  bolt  had  hit  him  on  the  head, 
while  around  him  in  a  quivering  clasp  he 
felt  the  girl's  arms.  It  was  a  frantic  em 
brace,  made  strenuous  by  terror.  Certain 
cries,  quite  unrestrained  yet  neither  loud 
nor  harsh,  and  altogether  feminine,  told 
how  poignant  was  the  agony  engendering 
them. 

Breyten  stood  still,  smiling  in  the  dark, 
half  conscious  of  a  fear  that  even  his 
breathing  might  break  the  charm  woven 
ii 


around  him.  A  fine  thrill  sprang  through 
his  limbs  and  body  from  those  quivering 
arms.  It  was  but  a  minute — how  long 
and  delicious ! — then  she  let  go  and  sprang 
away,  rising  lightly  to  her  feet. 

"I — I  beg  pardon!"  she  stammered, 
with  the  intonation  of  a  hermit  thrush. 
"Forgive  me." 

Breyten  laughed. 

"What  for?"  he  demanded.  "You  have 
done  no  crime  that  I  know  of.  You 
haven't  picked  my  pocket." 

Heavy  silence  ensued,  so  far  as  any 
sounds  between  them  might  be  reckoned 
against  it,  and,  in  fact,  the  wind  was 
slacking,  the  thunder  receding.  Not  a 
drop  of  rain  had  fallen.  Incredibly  soon 
there  was  nothing  in  the  heaven  over 
head  but  trailing  shreds  of  dark  gray,  the 
tatters  of  that  cloud  which  half  an  hour 


12 


before  had  looked  so  heavy  and  so 
charged  with  danger. 

By  the  sudden  access  of  light  Breyten 
saw  the  girl  too  plainly  for  the  good  of  his 
eyes;  he  was  dazzled  by  the  beam  from 
her  fresh  and  glowing  countenance. 

"I  was  dreadfully  frightened,"  she 
said;  "I  always  am  when  it  lightens  and 
thunders  so.  It  is  foolish,  I  know; 
but—" 

"It  was  enough  to  scare  you,"  Breyten 
interrupted,  "or  any  person.  It's  all  over 
now.  It  has  blown  around  north  of  here. 
Let  me  take  your  wheel  up  to  the  road  for 
you." 

"No,  no,  thank  you;  don't,  please." 
But  he  seemed  not  to  hear  her,  and  went 
forth  carrying  her  bicycle  up  the  steep 
bank  to  the  bridge-top,  while  she  fol 
lowed.  It  was  done  so  easily  and  quickly 
that  the  tall,  comely  girl  scarcely  under- 
•13 


stood  how  she  had  been  mastered ;  but  she 
struggled  with  her  wits  what  time  she 
was  mounting  the  slope. 

"Now  wait  till  I  fetch  my  wheel,"  he 
said. 

She  clutched  the  handle-bar  of  her  bi 
cycle  and  suddenly  looked  up  into  his 
face. 

"Oh,  if  you  please — won't  you  look  for 
a  little  red  note-book  down  there  ?  I  must 
have  left  it  on  the  ground  where  we — 
where  I—" 

"Yes,  yes,"  said  Breyten;  "all  right, 
I'll  find  it." 

With  three  or  four  bounds  he  de 
scended  and  passed  under  the  bridge. 
Something  like  a  fairy  tune  was  humming 
in  his  ears ;  his  eyes  were  so  blurred  with 
a  rosy  vision  that  he  stumbled  over  his 
faithful  wheel.  He  looked  about  for  the 
little  red  book,  until  at  last  he  found  it, 
14 


and  beside  it  a  dainty  handkerchief  from 
which,  when  he  picked  it  up,  a  hint  of 
heliotrope  reached  his  nostrils. 

Breyten  reascended  the  bluff  in  such  a 
state  of  inward  transfigurement  that  when 
he  again  stood  on  the  bridge  and  looked 
around  he  felt  as  if  just  coming  out  of  a 
dream.  Had  he  really  seen  a  lovely 
young  woman,  brown-haired,  brown- 
eyed,  berry-lipped  ?  What  had  become  of 
her?  Up  the  road,  down  the  road  he 
turned  his  dazed,  inquiring  eye's ;  but  not 
even  a  ribbon-flutter  or  the  twinkle  of  a 
wheel  broke  the  dancing  play  of  sunlight 
now  slanting  over  from  the  rapidly  clear 
ing  west. 

He  looked  curiously  at  the  red  note 
book  and  the  white  handkerchief,  a  smile 
on  his  mouth  somehow  betraying  his 
sense  of  having  been  outgeneraled.  If 
a  stalwart  man  ever  looked  like  an 
15 


abashed  and  bewildered  boy,  it  was  he, 
standing  there  flushed  to  the  ear-tips,  stu 
pidly  toying  with  what  was  left  of  the 
sweetest  apparition  that  his  eyes  had  ever 
seen. 

It  was  a  month  in  his  imagination,  but 
only  a  minute  or  two  in  fact,  that  he 
stood  idle;  then  the  impulse  came  to 
mount  and  pursue.  She  was  going 
towards  Hawford  when  he  first  saw  her ; 
of  course,  she  would  be  going  in  that 
direction  .now. 


16 


Breyten  entered  the  town  from  the  east 
in  a  broad,  clean  boulevard,  not  preten 
tiously  kept,  but  certainly  attractive,  on 
either  side  overlooked  by  pleasant  homes 
in  the  midst  of  trees,  under  which  a  blue- 
grass  sward  shone  intensely  green.  The 
way  turned  at  a  considerable  angle  to  join 
a  straight,  broad  street  of  the  town. 

Quite  unlike  most  little  cities  of  the 
middle  west,  Hawford  had  an  air  of  age 
and  permanence ;  not  so  much  in  the  ma 
terials  of  the  buildings,  mostly  wooden, 
as  in  the  general  effect  made  by  solid 
17 


architecture  and  ample  grounds  shaded  by 
ancient  forest  trees.  Breyten  saw  no  great 
stir  as  of  pressing  traffic ;  people  were  go 
ing  to  and  fro,  but  not  with  anxiety  or 
eagerness. 

After  inquiry  he  found  his  way  to  a 
pleasant  little  hotel  in  the  thick  of  the 
town,  where  his  luggage  was  awaiting 
him,  as  well  as  a  package  of  letters.  The 
first  thing  wras  a  bath ;  his  correspondents 
could  hold  their  breath  until  he  got  into 
comfortable  clothes ;  for  no  particular  in 
terest  attached  to  what  the  mails  brought 
him.  No  father,  mother,  brother,  or  sis 
ter  came  within  his  memory,  nor  had  he 
any  familiar  friends  or  nagging  enemies 
who  knew  where  he  was.  The  letters 
were  from  agents  managing  his  estates 
in  different  cities. 

What  most  occupied  his  mind,  vaguely 
perhaps,  but  in  its  every  nook,  was  the  girl 
18 


who  had  escaped  so  easily  at  the  bridge. 
She  had  fastened  herself  upon  his  imagin 
ation  like  a  butterfly  on  a  flower,  swing 
ing  across  his  inner  vision,  as  if  tossed  by 
a  fresh  wind. 

It  would  be  safe  to  say  that  Breyten 
had  been  touched  by  more  than  one  girl's 
beauty  before  this.  He  was  a  Southerner, 
with  all  the  warmth  of  the  cavaliers  in  his 
blood. 

It  was  a  part  of  his  deepest  nature  to 
desire,  as  the  Greek  poets  expressed  it, 
when  loveliness  came  before  him;  but  he 
had  escaped  sensuality  by  reason  of  high 
health  and  a  native  honesty.  As  a  roving 
student  he  had,  as  it  were,  gone  up  and 
down  in  the  world  with  a  book  in  his 
hand  and  love  in  his  heart. 

While  he  was  waiting  for  the  dinner 
he  had  ordered,  Breyten  walked  back  and 
forth  in  his  room.  A  bay-window  looked 
19 


into  the  street  in  front,  its  open  sash  let 
ting  enter  some  clatter  of  vehicles  along 
with  a  pleasant  country  freshness.  It 
was  growing  dark,  yet  against  the  sky 
pinkish  clouds  were  sliding,  thin  and  wav 
ering,  like  fading  flames  pursuing  the 
sun.  The  wind  had  gone  into  the  south 
east.  Breyten  took  note  of  these  weather- 
signs,  for  to-morrow  he  meant  to  go  out 
and  find  his  girl.  His  girl?  Of  course, 
his  girl.  It  is  the  way  that  youth  has  of 
appropriating  maidenhood ;  what  a  young 
man  discovers,  is  it  not  his?  Yea,  to  keep 
forever  or  to  toss  aside,  according  to  his 
mind. 

Later  in  the  evening,  while  rummaging 
for  something  in  the  pockets  of  his  cast- 
off  bicycle  coat,  he  ^ound  the  book  and 
handkerchief  left  in  his  possession  by  the 
fair  strategist  at  the  bridge.  It  would 
have  been  good  to  see  him  treat  the  bit 

20 


of  hemstitched  linen  as  if  its  perfume 
were  a  charm,  as  if  it  were  a  white  flower- 
petal  from  an  enchanted  garden.  He  held 
it  near  his  nostrils  to  sniff  it  delicately. 
Then  he  opened  the  little  red  book. 

You  could  have  seen  guilty  conscience 
in  his  boyish  expression  of  -furtiveness 
while  he  read  her  name  on'  the  first 
page, — Rosalynde  Banderet, — certainly 
musical,  suggesting  French  ancestry.  Vin- 
cennes  was  not  far  away,  he  remem 
bered;  besides,  she  had  a  creole  dash 
of  tender  duskiness  in  her  eyes.  A  warm 
glow  pursued  his  blood  around  the  circle 
of  his  veins  at  the  thought  of  her  voice. 

Breyten  felt  the  temptation  to  read  the 
entries  in  the  book  from  page  to  page ;  it 
was  like  seeing  ripe  berries  in  a  cool  place 
at  high  noon;  they  assaulted  a  primitive 
appetite.  But  he  could  not  trespass 
farther  than  to  catch  up  the  name  involun- 
21 


tarily, — Rosalynde  Banderet, — delicious- 
ly  sweet,  as  if  stolen. 

And  that  night  he  dreamed,  awake  and 
asleep,  the  preposterous  dreams  of  youth 
and  poetry,  with  the  book  and  handker 
chief  under  his  pillow. 

He  did  not  rise  early,  as  was  his  habit, 
but  slumbered  until  nine;  waking  then  to 
see  a  great  patch  of  sunshine  abetting  the 
glare  or  stare  of  the  gorgeous  carpet  on 
the  floor. 

From  beneath  the  pillow,  after  fum 
bling  a  moment,  he  drew  his  mementos 
of  yesterday,  looking  at  one,  then  the 
other,  with  rather  a  sheepish  gaze,  the 
smile  on  his  mouth  almost  degenerating 
to  a  grin.  Plainly  he  felt  a  trifle  ashamed 
of  himself  for  some  reason;  but  the  feel 
ing  could  not  conquer  his  delight  when 
once  more  he  saw  the  name,  Rosalynde 
Banderet.  And  what  could  he  do  but 

22 


kiss  an  autograph  like  that?  If  idleness 
is  the  parent  of  vice,  it  is  also  the  sire 
of  many  harmless  virtues  begotten  ac 
cidentally. 


;fY 


As  Breyten  was  on  the  point  of  mount 
ing  from  the  concrete  curbing  in  front  of 
the  hotel,  he  was  accosted  by  a  short  but 
heavy-set  young  man,  who  had  followed 
him  out  from  the  office  to  say :  "Pardon 
me,  but  that  is  a  remarkably  attractive 
wheel  of  yours.  Whose  make  is  it?" 

The  voice  had  good-fellowship  in  its 
tone.  Breyten  felt,  before  he  looked  up, 
that  he  should  see  a  comely  face;  but  he 
was  not  prepared  for  what  met  his  eyes. 
The  man  was  handsome,  that  could  not 
be  questioned;  yet  the  magnetism  of  his 
24 


countenance,  which  was  instantaneous, 
really  seemed  not  due  to  any  happy  ar 
rangement  of  features.  It  was  a  ray  from 
within,  out  of  the  darkness,  one  might 
say,  for  his  face  was  of  a  dusky  olive, 
while  his  eyes,  hair,  brows,  and  mustache 
were  nut-brown,  with  a  dark-yellowish 
gloom  hovering  about  them. 

"Yes,  it's  a  good  wheel,"  said  Breyten 
promptly.  "I  had  it  made  just  to  my 
liking.  You  see,  it  has  the  good  points 
of  all  the  best  makes.  It  is  a  concession  in 
my  behalf  by  several  patentees/' 

"You  have  come  to  enter  the  races  at 
our  spring  meet,  I  presume." 

Breyten  came  near  demanding  the 
man's  right  to  indulge  so  violent  a  pre 
sumption.  He  had  never  heard  of  the 
Haw  ford  spring  meet,  and  certainly  he 
was  not  a  racing  man;  but  there  was 
something  in  the  face  before  him  which 
25 


forbade  rebuke  with  peremptory  direct 
ness.  Besides,  the  man  was  lame,  short  of 
one  leg  by  three  inches,  the  lack  filled  out 
with  an  enormous  boot-sole  of  cork. 

"No;  I  don't  race,"  said  Breyten;  "I'm 
only  a  tourist  looking  at  the  country." 

Thus,  by  mere  accident — or  is  there 
such  a  thing  as  accident? — came  Alfred 
Rayle  into  the  ken  of  Frederick  Breyten, 
and  both  men  knew  almost  immediately 
that  the  meeting  meant  something  in  the 
strange  scheme  of  existence. 

Breyten  mounted  and  passed  out  of 
town,  gradually  increasing  his  speed  as 
the  roadsides  flaunted  their  rural  verdure 
and  the  country  freshness  began  to  stimu 
late  him.  Not  once  did  it  come  into  his 
mind  that  there  might  be  failure  at  the 
end  of  his  ride ;  nor  was  he  conscious  be 
fore  reaching  the  bridge  that  he  was  do 
ing  a  very  foolish  thing.  There,  however, 
26 


while  the  glow  of  expectation  was  high 
est,  he  suddenly  saw  things  change,  as  it 
were  from  poetry  to  prose.  The  whole 
landscape  took  on  a  commonplace  coun 
tenance.  He  dismounted  on  the  spot 
where  he  had  last  seen  Rosalynde  Ban- 
deret.  Plucking  at  his  mustache,  he 
gazed  around  with  a  decidedly  stupid 
stare,  not  enthusiastic  enough  to  smile  at 
his  own  folly  or  to  recall  himself  from  a 
state  of  indifference. 

Of  course  the  young  lady  was  nowhere 
in  sight ;  why  should  she  be  ?  Had  Brey- 
ten  really  expected  her?  After  all,  his 
coming  back  to  the  bridge  meant  nothing 
more  than  poetical  impulses  have  always 
meant. 

After  three  minutes  of  blank,  listless 
staring  around,  he  pulled  himself  to 
gether  and  laughed.  He  propped  his  bi 
cycle  against  the  rail  of  the  bridge  and 
27 


went  below,  curious  to  see  the  spot  upon 
which  Rosalynde  Banderet  had  crouched. 
It  was  not  a  romantic  place,  rather  dirty, 
cobwebbed  in  the  angles,  ill-smelling. 
With  his  hands  in  his  >pocl<:ets  /he  sur 
veyed  the  ground,  until 'a  -dainty  shoe- 
print  caught  his  eye. 

"Rosalynde  Banderet/'  he  thought 
aloud,  "I'll  find  you  yet." 

Then  he  laughed  at  himself  and 
pedaled  back  into  Hawford,  disappointed 
in  an  indefinite  way,  yet  not  defeated.  He 
had  plenty  of  time,  and  the  little  town  ap 
peared  attractive,  viewed  as  a  place  in 
which  to  spend  a  month  or  two ;  further 
more,  had  not  the  thought  of  studying 
the  life,  or  rather  experiencing  the  life,  of 
the  middle  west  often  interested  him? 
You  see  he  was  already  framing  a  foun 
dation  for  the  excuse  he  needed. 

Instead  of  returning  directly  to  the 
28 


hotel,  Breyten  made  a  swing  round  the 
residence  part  of  Hawford,  taking  a  leis 
urely  survey,  not  so  much  to  observe  as 
to  think,  and  most  of  all  to  let  his  imagin 
ation  settle. 

Breyten  may  have  been  in  just  the 
frame  of  spirit  to  be  most  favorably  im 
pressed  with  what  he  saw ;  but  any  tourist 
would  have  been  delighted  with  the  clean 
ness,  freshness,  and  repose  of  the  little 
city  embowered  in  its  manifold  greeneries 
and  blown  upon  by  the  weather  of  a  day 
supremely  golden,  balmy,  with  bees  in 
many  a  cherry  tree,  all  white  with 
flowers, — a  paradise  of  robins  in  every 
close. 

One  broad  street  lying  east  and  west, 
tree-fringed  on  either  side,  had  been 
chosen,  as  the  houses  showed,  by  some  of 
Hawford's  most  substantial  citizens.  It 
was,  indeed,  a  double  row  of  attractive 
29 


homes,  which  were  set  well  back  amid 
their  trees,  with  shrubbery  clumps  in  pro 
fusion  and  broad  white  walks  of  concrete 
leading  straight  from  street-gate  to  stoop. 

Near  the  end  of  the  street  Breyten 
found  himself  opposite  a  large  house 
which  attracted  his  attention  on  account 
of  its  unlikeness  to  all  the  others.  Not 
exactly  venerable  in  appearance,  it  looked 
older  than  it  really  was;  a  stately  struct 
ure,  plain,  weatherbeaten,  solid,  built  of 
brick  and  painted  drab,  it  stood  on  a  knoll 
thickly  surrounded  with  wide-armed 
forest  trees. 

Just  as  he  was  passing  the  drab  gate  of 
the  old  place  two  persons,  a  man  and  a 
girl,  went  up  the  walk  towards  the  house. 
The  man  was  lame  and  proceeded  slowly, 
leaning  on  a  knotty  cane,  while  his  com 
panion  gently  kept  pace  with  him.  An 
absurdly  unattractive  little  dog  followed 
30 


• — a  large  house  attracted  his  attention- 
a  stately  structure  surrounded  with 
wide-armed  forest  trees 


at  the  girl's  heels,  bearing  itself  as  if 
conscious  of  a  gazing  world. 

Breyten  knew  instantly  that  Rosalynde 
Banderet  was  once  more  under  his  eye. 

He  recognized  the  lame  man  as  the  one 
who  spoke  to  him  at  the  hotel,  and  there 
was  something  in  the  movement  and  pro 
portions  of  the  poor  fellow's  figure  that 
suggested  a  satyr  or  some  other  half- 
beautiful,  half-monstrous  plaything  of 
nature.  Nor  could  there  be  any  doubt, 
after  a  single  glance,  as  to  the  influence 
Miss  Banderet  was,  perhaps  uncon 
sciously,  exerting  over  him.  He  was 
looking  at  her  as  a  child  looks  at  a  star. 
Breyten  knew  this  by  the  pose  of  his 
head  and  the  slight  drooping  of  his  body 
towards  her.  A  stroke,  subtly  keen,  fell 
upon  Breyten's  breast  at  the  same  time, 
sending  a  pang  through  his  heart — a  pang 
mixed  of  joy  and  its  opposite;  for  there 


was  a  formless,  nebulous  pathos  in  the 
scene. 

He  could  not  linger  gazing,  and  the 
thought  of  making  the  book  and  handker 
chief  an  excuse  for  entering  that  quiet 
close  did  not  come  into  his  mind;  so  he 
rode  back  to  the  hotel.  After  all,  he  had 
accomplished  something,  more,  indeed, 
than  he  had  expected;  but  why  this  sor 
rowful  faint  shadow,  this  obscure  taint  in 
the  sunshine  of  his  dream?  A  thrush  in 
a  garden  hedge  sang  of  its  love  with  just 
the  same  hint  of  indefinable  sadness. 


Rayle  was  attempting  the  impossible, 
trying  to  learn  art  without  a  teacher  and 
with  no  masterpieces  from  which  to  ab 
sorb  a  sense  of  technical  correctness.  If 
he  had  genius,  his  work  did  not  testify  to 
it.  Like  the  penniless  provincial  the  world 
over,  his  regard  for  wealth  being  a  distor 
tion,  he  looked  upon  success  as  in  some 
way  connected  with  a  happy  financial  con 
dition.  If  he  had  money,  the  rest  would 
be  easy.  But  he  had  no  money  worth 
naming,  six  hundred  dollars  annually 
from  property  left  in  trust  for  him  by  an 
33 


uncle  being  his  only  income  save  the  little 
he  earned  by  coloring  photographs  and 
doing  a  portrait  once  in  a  while. 

He  took  Breyten  to  his  studio  in  the 
upper  story  of  a  rickety  building,  part 
of  which  was  occupied  by  baled  hay  and 
other  horse-feed.  A  livery  stable  was 
next  door,  and  across  the  street  "Barney 
Hart's  Saloon"  was  -squeezed '  hard  -be 
tween  a  bakery  and  a  meat-shop. 

Breyten  followed  Rayle  up  the  stair 
way,  which  was  outside  of  the  building  at 
the  edge  of  an  alley,  feeling  in  advance 
the  pathos  of  what  he  was  going  to  see. 
His  sense  of  humor,  however,  received  a 
shock  when  he  entered  the  room,  which 
smelt  stuffy  and  looked  grimy.  There 
were  two  rough  easels,  a  chair  and  a 
bench,  a  three-legged  stool,  some  pic 
tures, — nothing  else.  On  one  of  the 
easels  a  large  canvas  held  a  landscape  in 
34- 


oil,  stiffly  drawn  and  crudely  colored, 
hideously  uninteresting,  yet  in  a  way  true 
to  nature,  not  unlike  a  photograph  daubed 
over  with  greens  and  browns  and  blues. 
Breyten  looked  around,  and  a  great  laugh 
arose  in  him  which  he  -had  trouble  to 
keep  from  roaring  forth.  Then  involun 
tarily  he  turned  short  and  faced  Rayle, 
who  had  stepped  behind  him  as  they  en 
tered. 

For  a  minute  there  was  an  awkward 
silence,  while  Rayle's  dark  eyes  seemed 
to  search  Breyten's  soul  to  its  farthest 
limit,  and  while  Breyten  made  a  great 
effort  to  keep  an  equilibrium  of  counte 
nance. 

At  the  point  of  greatest  tension  in  the 
silence  an  enormous  rat  leaped  out  from 
a  dark  corner  of  the  room  and  scampered 
noisily  across  the  floor  to  a  hole  near 
another  corner:  That  was  the  cue.  Brey- 
35 


ten  let  go  his  hold  upon  all  the  laughter 
that  had  accumulated.  Rayle  fairly  re 
coiled  before  the  explosion ;  but  he  caught 
himself,  and  laughed  rather  perfunctorily 
in  response.  He  gave  Breyten  the  chair, 
and  took  the  stool  for  himself. 

"I — I  beg  your  pardon/'  he  stammered, 
"for  bringing  you  here.  I  know  it's  not 
interesting  to  you." 

"Why,  yes/7  said  Breyten  briskly;  "it 
is  interesting;  I'm  glad  I  came.  It  is  a 
quiet,  comfortable  place.  We  can  have  a 
chat.  Forgive  my  laugh ;  the  rat  was  so 
big  and  so  sudden." 

Sitting  upon  the  tripod,  Rayle  looked 
peculiarly  crumpled  and  pathetic,  notwith 
standing  his  fine  head  and  well-set  shoul 
ders.  He  glanced  uneasily  at  his  land 
scape,  then  asked  Breyten  if  he  took  any 
interest  in  painting. 

"Not  much,"  was  the  answer.  "I  tried 
36 


it  awhile,  went  to  Paris  to  study,  daubed 
some  canvas,  and  was  a  great  failure. 
You  see  I'm  not  a  genius,  and  one  must 
have  the  gift.  Nature  first,  art  next." 

A  flush  mounted  into  Rayle's  cheeks. 
"Yes,  the  natural  gift  is  the  main  thing, 
they  say."  He  spoke  as  if  under  great 
restraint.  "It  seems  to  me,  however,  that 
money  plays  the  big  part  in  the  game. 
How  can  genius  find  out  what  it  has  never 
seen  or  felt  or  heard?" 

"I  don't  know  how,  but  it  does,"  said 
Breyten.  "It  needs  no  aid." 

"Well,  frankly,  I  don't  believe  a  word 
of  any  such  stuff,"  said  Rayle  with 
energy.  "Give  me  money,  and  I'll  do  the 


rest." 


"Oh,  I  don't  know  about  the  efficacy  of 

money  in  the  matter   of  art,"   Breyten 

lightly  remarked;   "but  we  all  need  it, 

doubtless,  more  than  we  are  willing  to 

37 


acknowledge.  I  squandered  some  trying 
to  do  what  you  think  of  doing.  If  I  had 
that  money  back  now  I  could  use  it  to  bet 
ter  purpose;  but  it's  gone,  and  I've  noth 
ing  to  show  for  it." 

His  words  were  meant  to  deceive,  and 
they  did  to  a  degree ;  but  Rayle  knew  that 
Breyten  was  freer,  happier,  and  richer 
than  himself,  and  so  what  he  said  did  not 
bring  comfort.  Besides,  his  leg  was  pain 
ing  him,  and  it  was  torture,  yet  a  torture 
that  he  eagerly  sought,  to  look  at  Brey- 
ten's  genial  face,  where  health,  strength, 
and  activity  were  combined  in  every  ray 
of  expression. 

"I  had  a  selfish  purpose  in  decoying 
you  up  here  into  this  hole/'  said  Rayle 
after  a  few  moments  of  silence,  with  a 
smile  not  altogether  dismal.  "I  want  you 
to  tell  me  if  I  have  any  real  talent  for — 
for  this  business."  He  waved  his  hand 

38 


to  signify  that  his  remark  comprehended 
what  the  room  was  dedicated  to.  "Some 
how  I  had  made  up  my  mind,  before  you 
spoke  of  having  studied  art  in  Paris,  that 
you  knew  more  than  I  about  it.  Now  I 
want  you  to  be  frank  with  me." 

Breyten  was  speechless.  Indeed,  what 
could  he  say? 

"I'll  tell  you  the  whole  thing,"  Rayle 
went  on  when  Breyten  did  not  speak. 
"It's  just  this:  I  have  a  small  estate, 
held  in  trust  for  me,  from  which  I  get  fifty 
dollars  a  month.  My  lawyer  has  just  dis 
covered  that  I  can  sell  the  property,  al 
though  it  was  the  donor's  intention  to 
prevent  it.  Now,  ii  I  have  real  talent  I 
want  to  know  it,  and  I'll  sell  out  and  go 
away  to  study.  That's  the  long  and  short 
of  the  matter." 

He  fidgeted  on  the  stool  and  a  dark 
glow  rose  in  his  face.  This  way  of  blush- 
39 


ing  gave  him  a  look  of  shyness  not  par 
ticularly  becoming,  and  made  him  appear 
less  at  ease  than  he  really  was. 

Breyten  looked  at  him  steadily  for  a 
moment.  "You  are  just  as  I  was  when  I 
got  the  painter's  bee  in  my  bonnet,"  he 
said,  with  his  pleasantest  smile  and  in  a 
voice  meant  to  be  very  light  and  careless. 
"It's  like  love ;  it  has  a  way  of  humming 
until  it  distracts  a  fellow — that  bee."  He 
was  silent  for  a  moment,  then  added : 
"How  long  have  you  been  at  this  ?  How 
long  have  you  worked  at  your — art?" 

"It  isn't  art;  you  know  it  isn't,  and 
you  needn't  hesitate,"  said  Rayle  prompt 
ly  and  frankly  enough.  "I  know  as  well 
as  you  do  that  it's  ridiculous;  but  I 
wanted  you  to  see  it  just  as  it  is.  If  you 
should  go  to  speaking  favorably  of  it  I 
could  not  respect  your  taste;  but  can  I 
ever  learn  ?  If  I  go  to  where  I  can  get  the 
40 


— can  I  ever  learn  ?—Can  I  finally 
be  an  artist 


•best  help,  can  I  finally  be  an  artist  ?  That's 
what  I  want  to  know." 

There  was  absolute  earnestness  in  his 
voice,  and  Breyten  felt  something  manly 
and  courageous  come  along  with  his 
words. 

"You  don't  see  much  here  to  back  my 
aspirations,  do  you?  I  didn't  expect  you 
would."  Rayle  laughed  mechanically. 

"You  jump  to  a  conclusion,"  Breyten 
replied  quickly.  "I  have  not  yet  had 
time,  to  examine  or  to  think."  While  he 
was  speaking,  his  eyes  fell  upon  Rayle's 
drawn  leg  and  clumsy  shoe,  and  a  thrill  of 
pity  shot  through  his  breast.  "But,"  he 
added,  "I  should  imagine  that  your  work 
.here  would  be  in  your  way  when 
you—" 

"Yes,"  Rayle  interrupted  almost 
breathlessly.  "I  should  have  to  begin 
over  again,  I  know  that.  But  what  do 
41 


you  think  of  the  outcome?  Am  I  mis 
taken  in  myself  ?  Is  there  nothing  in  me  ?" 

"Well,  how  do  I  know  ?  I  am  no  mind- 
reader."  They  both  laughed,  Rayle 
rather  doggedly.  Breyten  went  on : 
"You  might  have  superb  genius  and  I 
not  see  it  at  a  glance.  What  do  you  hon 
estly  think  of  yourself  when  you  lie  in 
bed  pondering  over  this  subject?" 

"My  self-trust  never  weakens  for  a 
moment,  save  when  I  read  of  those  men 
who  have  overcome  poverty,  disease,  and 
every  other  possible  hindrance  to  genius. 
I  doubt  myself  then;  for  somehow  I  can 
not  break  through  anything ;  I  have  none 
of  the  shiftiness  of  those  fellows,  and 
there  has  never  come  to  me  one  of  those 
lifting  waves  of  opportunity  to  hoist  me 
into  the  current  of  success." 

"And  if  one  should  come — if  a  wind 
fall  of  fortune  should  give  you  ample 
42 


means — do  you  feel  sure  that  you  would 
be  able  to  make  the  most  of  it?" 

"I  could  at  least  settle  the  question  and 
find  out.  I  could  measure  myself  by  a 
true  standard,  and  I  tell  you  that  I  be 
lieve  in  myself;  yet" — and  his  voice  fal 
tered  as  he  looked  gloomily  around  the 
room — "you  can  see  that  I've  no 
reason  to." 

Breyten  rose  as  if  to  go ;  but  he  stood  a 
moment  looking  into  Rayle's  eyes  and 
smiling.  Then  in  a  tone  of  present  dis 
missal  he  said : 

"We'll  talk  this  subject  over  again 
when  you  have  discovered  that  my 
opinions  aren't  worth  a  straw.  A  vaga 
bond  wheelman  is  not  just  the  safest  ad 
viser  in  a  serious  matter.  One  thing, 
however,  I'll  say  emphatically.  Don't  sell 
your  estate;  let  the  trustee  continue  to 
hold  it.  A  six-hundred-dollar  income  is 
43 


better  than  no  income.  What  I  have  is 
safely  invested,  and  I  manage  to  make 
both  ends  meet  without  disturbing  the 
principal.  It's  the  only  safe  way." 

Rayle  had  risen  from  the  stool  and  was 
fingering  his  knotty  stick.  He  looked  up 
at  Breyten,  who  towered  above  him,  and 
said: 

"You  might  as  well  be  done  with  me  at 
once.  I  shall  be  a  great  bore  as  long  as 
you  are  at  the  hotel.  You  see  I'm  desper 
ately  in  earnest  and  absolutely  selfish. 
How  long  are  you  to  remain  in  Haw- 
ford?" 

Suddenly  Breyten  recollected  some 
thing  that  had  been  obscurely  worrying 
him  all  the  morning,  and  he  answered 
Rayle's  question  with  a  mental  reference 
to  it. 

"That  depends,"  he  said;  "my  humor 
is  uncertain.  And,  by  the  way,  I  have  a 
44 


pleasant  yet  difficult  little  duty  to  per 
form  before  I  go  away  from  this  happy 
little  town.  Do  you  know  a  young  lady 
by  the  name  of  Rosalynde  Banderet?" 

A  change  came  into  Rayle's  dark  face. 
It  was  as  if  a  light  had  flashed  through 
it,  with  a  tender  illumination  trailing  be 
hind  it,  like  the  faint  shimmering  after 
a  meteor  in  the  dusky  evening  sky. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "I  am  acquainted  with 
her." 

"Well,  I  have  some  things  of  hers  that 
I  am  anxious  to  return  to  her.  Does  she 
live  in  the  large  old  house  on  Wabash 
Street?" 

"What  have  you  that  belongs  to  her?" 
Rayle  demanded.  Then,  "I  beg  pardon," 
he  added,  "I  have  no  right  to  ask.  Yes, 
she  lives  on  Wabash  Street." 

The  two  young  men  looked  straight 
into  each  other's  eyes.  Breyten  broke 
45 


away  first;  he  did  not  like  something  in 
Rayle's  look.  Not  that  it  was  disagree 
able  or  threatening;  what  he  saw  was 
beautiful.  It  was  because  it  was  beautiful 
that  he  did  not  like  it.  He  walked  back 
to  the  hotel  thinking  in  words  to  himself : 
"The  poor  fellow  loves  her." 


"i^^^P^ 

p^PJ      s~,y  :  f  \ 


Breyten  all  at  once  found  himself  timid, 
uneasy,  foolishly  hesitating  in  front  of  the 
house  on  Wabash  Street.  That  is,  he  was 
girl-shy,  and  actually  felt  like  running 
away. 

He  had  dismounted  from  his  bicycle  in 
front  of  the  gate,  had  even  learned  it 
against  the  fence,  and  was  gazing  up  the 
walk  with  an  expression  of  countenance 
not  significant  of  any  settled  purpose.  In 
deed,  he  looked  like  a  big  boy  suddenly 
stricken  with  embarrassment.  He  stuffed 
his  hands  into  the  pockets  of  his  bicycling 
47 


coat ;  with  one  of  them  he  fumbled  the  lit 
tle  red  book,  while  he  thought  of  the 
handkerchief  in  his  cap,  and  stood  by  the 
gate  as  if  half  afraid  to  open  it. 

A  distinct  sense  of  relief  caused  his  face 
to  resume  somewhat  its  accustomed  ex 
pression  when  he  saw  an  elderly  gentle 
man  come  round  an  angle  of  the  house 
and,  cane  in  hand,  approach  him,  stepping 
down  the  walk  with  the  stiff,  jerky  gait  of 
rheumatism.  He  wore  a  black  frock-coat, 
a  silk  hat,  and  dark-gray  trousers,  all  ex 
tremely  neat,  yet  unmistakably  far  from 
new.  The  dingy  black  neckerchief  under 
his  old-fashioned  collar  was  three  inches 
wide  and  tied  in  a  tight  little  knot.  His 
ample,  much-wrinkled,  and  brilliantly 
polished  shoes  looked  a  trifle  too  heavy 
for  his  long,  slender  legs,  which  were  pe 
culiarly  sharp  at  the  knees. 

Breyten  lifted  his  cap,  and  the  old  man 


said  :  "How  do  you  do,  sir?"  very  prompt 
ly  and  with  pleasant  dignity,  repeating, 
after  a  slight  pause,  "How  do  you  do?" 

Breyten  opened  the  gate  for  him,  and, 
stepping  aside,  held  it  so  while  he  passed 
out  upon  the  sidewalk. 

The  old  man  turned  a  pair  of  keen  steel- 
gray  eyes  upon  the  young  fellow,  as  if  to 
look  him  through,  then,  glancing  at  the 
bicycle  against  the  fence,  said :  "It  bids 
fair  to  be  a  warm  day."  After  which  he 
stood,  evidently  not  quite  sure  of  his 
memory,  passing  his  left  hand  over  his 
forehead.  He  could  not  recollect  Brey 
ten,  but  took  it  for  granted  that  he  was 
one  of  the  young  men  about  town  who 
might  some  day  vote  for  him  and  he  did 
not  like  to  appear  forgetful. 

"You  were  going  in.  Was  it  to  see 
me?"  He  smiled  a  fine  political  smile. 


49 


"I  will  go  back  to  the  house  with  you. 
Come." 

"No,"  said  Breyten.  "I  am  going  in  to 
see  Miss  Rosalynde — " 

"Ah,"  the  old  man  interrupted  with  a 
wave  of  the  hand,  "she'll  be  right  glad 
to  see  you,  Mr. — '' 

"Breyten  is  my  name." 

"Mr.  Breyten.  Yes.  You'll  find  her 
in,  I  think.  Go  in,  Mr.  Breyten,  go  in." 
The  genial  stereotyped  smile  deepened  on 
his  face  as  he  bowed  and  passed  on  down 
the  street. 

Thereupon  Breyten  burned  the  bridge 
behind  him.  That  is  to  say,  he  went  in 
and  shut  the  gate,  breathing  freer.  His 
heart  fluttered  blithely  while  he  strode 
towards  the  house,  hearing  the  robins  and 
catbirds  singing  in  the  trees  round  about. 
Up  the  steepish  walk  under  the  intertwin 
ing  branches  a  queer  little  dog  trotted 
50 


— Breyten  was  not  prepared  for  the 
apparition  of  Miss  Banderet 
in  the  hall 


ahead  of  him.  It  had  come  out  of  a 
shrubbery  clump  hard  by.  A  blue  ribbon 
around  its  neck  was  tied  above  in  a  bow 
with  short  streamers. 

Mounting  six  or  seven  steps  to  a  broad 
stoop  under  a  hanging  balcony,  Breyten 
pounded  vigorously,  waking  echoes  with 
in,  at  which  the  grotesque  little  dog,  now 
wriggling  at  his  feet,  barked  as  if  life  de 
pended  upon  noise.  And  when  a  little 
later  the  door  was  gently  opened,  in 
scampered  the  clever  brute  and  joyously 
leaped  upon  Miss  Rosalynde  Banderet's 
dainty  morning  gown. 

Breyten  was  not  prepared  for  the  ap 
parition  of  Miss  Banderet  in  the  hall. 
He  had  expected  that  a  servant  would 
open  the  door.  The  dog,  however,  neu 
tralized  surprise  with  his  mad  antics.  He 
jumped  as  high  as  his  young  mistress's 
waistband,  and  tried  to  seize  certain  fluffy 


ornaments  above  it  with  his  teeth.  His 
paws  left  dusty  tracks  on  the  skirt. 
Mutual  recognition  flashed  meantime  be 
tween  the  two  young  people.  Breyten, 
stooping  quickly,  took  hold  of  the  dog's 
nape  and  held  it  up  bodily,  whining  and 
kicking  for  a  moment,  then  tossed  it  out 
upon  the  floor  of  the  stoop  and  closed  the 
door  with  a  brisk  shove. 

"Now  then,  good-morning,  Miss  Ban- 
deret,"  he  said,  turning  towards  her  in 
the  twilight  of  the  hall  and  bowing,  cap 
in  hand. 

She  looked  straight  past  him.  The  lit 
tle  dog  was  scratching  at  the  door  and 
querulously  begging  to  be  let  in. 

"You  have  hurt  Bobby,"  she  said;  "he 
is  crying.  Let  me  open  the  door." 

Breyten  pulled  the  great  brass  knob, 
and  in  popped  the  atrocious  beast,  bounc 
ing  and  frisking. 

52 


"He  seems  lively  enough,"  remarked 
Breyten,  just  as  he  tore  a  considerable 
rent  in  Miss  Banderet's  gown.  "Shall  I 
fling  him  out  again?" 

"No,"  she  said,  rather  pathetically  re 
garding  the  damage.  Then  she  pounced 
upon  Bobby  and  took  him  in  her  arms, 
where  he  delightedly  nestled,  winking  his 
wicked  little  eyes  and  protruding  his 
tongue. 

"I  met  a  gentleman  at  the  gate,"  he 
quickly  said,  "your  father,  I  suppose,  and 
he  told  me  to  come  in,  that  you  were  here ; 
so  I  thought  I  might  step  in  and  inquire 
if  you  lost  anything  of  value  under  the 
bridge  the  other  day  during  the  storm." 

She  looked  up  at  him  very  demurely 
while  he  was  fumbling  in  his  cap  for  the 
handkerchief,  which,  when  he  had  dis 
engaged  it,  he  held  towards  her.  The  dog 
snatched  it,  but  she  took  it  from  him  and 
53 


quickly  scrutinized  it,  then  laughed. 

"Thank  you,"  she  said ;  "but  it  was  not 
worth  the  trouble." 

"Perhaps  this  is  more  valuable,"  and 
he  produced  the  little  book,  which  Bobby 
promptly  snapped  at  in  vain.  Breyten 
held  it  above  his  reach. 

"It  is  kind  of  you.  The  book  is  of  ac 
count  to  me."  She  took  it  almost  eagerly. 
"I  am  glad  to  get  it." 

"Then  why  did  you  run  away  and  leave 
it  in  my  possession?" 

"An  explanation  would  not  be  inter 
esting,"  she  said,  as  if  to  close  the  con 
versation.  "You  have  been  very  kind." 
She  took  a  step  away  from  him ;  he  felt 
dismissed.  He  laid  a  hand  upon  the  door 
knob  and  looked  up  at  the  stucco  rosette 
on  the  ceiling,  from  which  depended  a 
curious  old  chandelier,  then  again  straight 
into  her  beautiful  eyes.  There  was  in 
54 


his  gaze  a  frank  appeal  for  more  generous 
treatment,  but  she  only  looked  down  and 
patted  Bobby's  villainous  head  with  the 
little  red  book  just  recovered. 

Another  luminous  thought  flared  across 
Breyten's  mind.  So  he  laughed  and  said :' 

"This  is  the  first  time  that  I  was  ever  in 
a  house  where  they  didn't  offer  me  a 
chair.  Even  when  they  put  me  in  jail  in 
Russia,  thinking  me  an  assassin,  they 
bade  me  be  seated." 

There  was  something  irresistibly  pleas 
ing  in  his  voice.  His  nature  charged  it 
with  unmistakable  honesty. 

Rosalynde  Banderet's  .cheeks  flushed  as 
she  looked  up  to  meet  his  smiling  eyes. 
He  was  certainly  the  handsomest  man  she 
had  ever  seen,  and  there  could  be  no  doubt 
about  his  gentility  and  his  worthiness: 
such  a  man  could  not  be  capable  of  abus- 


55 


ing  confidence ;  and  besides,  what  possible 
harm  could  come  of  treating  him  kindly? 

"Forgive  me,"  she  said,  "I  was 
very  thoughtless.  I — " 

"You  shall  forgive  me,  rather,"  he 
hastened  to  break  in  with,  "and  I  will 
try  to  make  amends  for  my  foolish  bold 
ness.  Of  course,  I'm  a  stranger ;  I  have 
no  right  to  overstep  a  stranger's  limita 
tions.  I  was  staying  here  for  a  few 
days ;  I  could  not  go  away  without  bring 
ing  the  book  and  the  handkerchief  to  you ; 
but  it  was  impossible  to  come  with  letters 
of  introduction  or  give  a  bond  for  my 
good  behavior.  It's  hard  on  a  fellow  to 
be  a  stranger  among  strangers.  I  feel 
helpless." 

His  tone  was  light  to  a  degree ;  but  un 
der  it  something  like  deep  regret  welled 
up  and  thrilled  Rosalynde  strangely,  mak- 


ing  her  feel  that  in  some  way  she  was 
wronging  him.  She  had  never  been  in  the 
presence  of  a  man  who  was  so  much  a 
stranger  in  a  wide  sense  of  the  word. 
He  impressed  her  as  one  who  had  come 
from  a  very  far  country  where  men  were 
greatly  different  from  those  of  her  ac 
quaintance  ;  but  instead  of  being  romantic 
on  that  account,  he  seemed  intensely  real, 
concentratedly  modern,  and  unconven 
tional.  She  was  not  thinking  this;  her 
mind  lay  confused  and  fluttering,  so  to 
say,  unable  to  analyze  or  understand  its 
condition;  but  the  impression  was  clear 
enough  afterwards,  when  Breyten  had 
gone  away. 

"Ours  has  been  a  short  and  curious  ac 
quaintance,"  he  said.  "I  presume  that 
it  ends  here,  and  I  am  sorry  for  it.  Good- 
by,  Miss  Banderet."  He  let  go  the  knob, 


57 


shifted  his  cap  into  his  left  hand,  and 
held  his  right  towards  her. 

Bobby  obligingly  took  it  between  his 
acicular  teeth  with  surprising  deftness 
and  vigor.  It  was  bleeding  when  Breyten 
snatched  it  away,  his  grimace  telling- 
how  hard  it  was  not  to  wring  Bobby's 
neck  on  the  spot.  Miss  Banderet  apolo 
gized  ;  she  even  flung  the  little  dog  down 
and  made  him  hasten  about  scamper 
ing  out  of  the  hall ;  then  she  offered  to  ex 
amine  Breyten's  hurt,  and  finally  ban 
daged  the  bleeding  hand,  which  was  but 
scratched,  with  the  handkerchief  that  he 
had  returned  to  her.  This  accomplished, 
there  seemed  to  be  nothing  further  to  say 
or  do,  only  Breyten  thought  that  they 
might  make  another  attempt  to  say 
good-by. 

When  Breyten  rode  away  from  the  gate 


he  saw  Rayle  coming  up  the  sidewalk 
towards  the  house.  He  was  hobbling 
along  painfully,  leaning  on  his  knotty 
stick. 


59 


Ctvcvp  l  e  r<._5e  ve  IN 

Rosalynde  Banderet  was  the  orphan  of 
a  soldier,  who,  wounded  at  Gettysburg, 
had  lingered  a  cripple  for  twenty  years 
and  died,  leaving  her,  his  only  child, 
motherless,  to  be  cared  for  by  her  grand 
father,  General  Lucien  Banderet,  a  dis 
tinguished  politician.  These  particulars 
Breyten  learned  without  much  exertion. 
It  furthermore  came  to  him  that  the 
General  was  having  some  trouble  about 
securing  the  nomination  he  desired.  It 
seemed  that  a  younger  man,  reputed  to  be 
very  rich,  was  becoming  a  dangerous  an- 
6c 


tagonist.  The  General's  financial  condition 
forbidding  what  is  called  fighting  fire  with 
fire,  his  friends  were  feeling  that  unless 
something  better  than  mere  oratory  could 
be  offered  in  his  behalf  there  might  soon 
be  a  stampede  in  favor  of  the  man  with 
the  money,  and  the  situation  was  the  sub 
ject  of  hot  street  talk,  which  could  not 
be  excluded  from  the  smoking-room  of 
the  hotel. 

Breyten  opened  his  ears  to  all  this  and 
more.  It  interested  him  peculiarly  on  ac 
count  of  Miss  Bancleret's  indirect  con 
nection  with  it.  He  felt  that  in  some  way 
he  had  a  part  to  perform  in  the  drama 
which  seemed  about  to  open. 

He  sat  in  a  corner  of  the  little  smoking- 
room,  and,  though  not  a  smoker  himself, 
enjoyed  seeing  Rayle  puff  out  the  fra 
grance  of  a  dark  Havana  that  he  had  given 
him,  while  three  or  four  political  workers 
61 


at  a  little  distance  were  cautiously  yet 
violently  debating  the  advisability  of  the 
party  demanding  General  Banderet's 
withdrawal  from  the  race.  The  men  were 
from  Indianapolis,  and  had  been  sent  to 
Hawford  to  inquire  into  the  matter. 

"Well,  all  I've  got  to  say,  I  can  say 
right  now,"  blurted  one  of  them.  "A  man 
_whp_, can't  raise  enough. money  to  make  a 
decent  campaign's  got  no  business  stick- 
jng  up  his  head, for  a. nomination.  There's 
too  much  at  stake;  we  can't  afford  any 
nonsense. 

"But  is  it  safe  to  nominate  McCarthy?" 

"He's  a  hustler  and  won't  mind  a  little 
expense." 

.  "But  his  record  in  the  labor  troubles, — 
every,  miner,  every  railroader,  every  union 
rnaji.in;tbe  State  has  him  spotted." 

"Well,.I  had  a  long  talk  with  McCarthy 
night   before   last,    and   he   says   it's   all 
62 


right.  Besides,  you  know  devilish  well 
that  a  little  decent  work  will  fetch  the 
labor  element  all  straight  as  a  string  for 
any  man  that  we  nominate.  Of  course, 
General  Banderet  is  the  very  man  we 
want,  personally;  but  he's  in  no  financial 
shape.  Why,  there's  a  mortgage  on 
everything  he's  got;  even  the  house  he 
lives  in's  got  six  thousand  on  it." 

"Got  no  friends  back  of  him?" 

"Oh,  he  thinks  he  will  have,  he  says; 
but  when  I  pinned  him  down  he  couldn't 
mention  any  names  worth  ten  thousand 
in  bank." 

"All  the  old  soldiers  are  behind  the 
General ;  he  can  get  them  every  one,  Dem 
ocrat  and  Republican.  If  we  pull  him  off 
they'll  all  be  mad,  and  the  devil'll  be  to 
pay." 

"Well,  then,  we'll  have  to  spring  a  dark 
horse;  for  there's  no  use  talking,  we've 
63 


got  to  have  money.  We  can't  turn  a  wheel 
without  it." 

These  scraps  of  the  mumbled  yet  earn 
est  conversation,  hotly  spiced  with  pro 
fanity  and  slang,  drifted  brokenly  into 
Breyten's  ears.  It  seemed  that  Rayle, 
too,  heard  some  of  it;  for  he  presently 
leaned  forward  and  said,  speaking  low : 

"As  I  said  to  you  in  my  studio,  it  re 
quires  money  to  do  anything,  Mr.  Brey- 
ten,  no  matter  what.  Did  you  hear  what 
those  men  were  saying  about  the  conven 
tion  ?  They're  wire- workers  in  State  poli 
tics  ;  they  are  here  bullying  General  Ban- 
deret." 

"A  disreputable  looking  lot,"  said  Brey- 
ten ;  "political  blackmailers,  I  should  say, 
scoundrels." 

His  voice  was  not  guarded,  and  one  of 
the  men  swung  himself  round  in  his  chair 
and  gave  him  a  keen  look,  but  said  not  a 
64 


word.  A  moment  later  they  all  left  the 
room.  Breyten  never  saw  them  again; 
but  their  talk  had  revealed  an  inter 
esting  fact  to  him,  and  he  plied  Rayle 
with  questions  indirectly  pertinent  to  the 
main  issue — the  condition  of  General 
Lucien  Banderet's  finances. 

"The  old  gentleman  is,  in  fact,  desper 
ately  involved,"  said  Rayle.  "I  happen  to 
know  the  particulars ;  but  he  is  very  pop 
ular  and  will  be  hard  to  beat  before  the 
people,  if  he  can  secure  the  nomination. 
There  lies  all  the  trouble.  The  practical 
politicians  want  some  man  nominated 
who  will  spend  money  like  water.  Of 
course,  if  the  old  General  is  nominated 
they  will  all  support  him,  money  or  no 
money.  What  he  needs  is  five  or  ten 
thousand  dollars  to  take  him  through  the 
convention,  and  it  looks  as  if  he  will  not 
be  able  to  raise  that  amount  or  any  other." 
65 


"I  see,"  said  Breyten.  "It  is  very  in 
teresting  to  me.  I  have  never  had  any 
thing  to  do  with  politics — was  never  be 
fore  so  close  to  actual  political  trickery.  I 
feel  the  novelty ;  I  have  had  a  fine  smack 
of  corruption." 

Rayle  laughed,  not  very  jocundly,  and 
tried  to  be  light  of  manner,  saying :  "Don't 
be  polluted  by  what  you  accidentally 
touch ;  I  have  kept  pretty  well  out  of  poli 
tics  myself."  He  paused  a  moment,  and 
then  added,  seriously :  "But  it  would  be 
my  greatest  delight  to  help  General  Ban- 
deret  were  I  able.  I  wrould  sacrifice  a 
great  deal.  He  is  a  noble,  a  grand  old 
man,  superbly  endowed  and  absolutely 
honest." 

"But,  if  he  is  honest,  how  can  he  use 
money  in  politics?"  Breyten  demanded 
with  unhesitating  bluntness. 

<:He  couldn't  and  wouldn't  use  it  cor- 
66 


ruptingly,"  said  Rayle ;  'lie's  above  it,  and 
besides,  there's  no  need.  What  he  wants 
is  money  to  rent  half  of  the  best  hotel  in 
Indianapolis  for  a  week,  and  to  bear  his 
expenses  through  the  convention :  wine 
and  cigars  for  his  friends,  a  brass  band, 
and  a  hundred  or  so  clackers.  You  see  a 
great  deal  depends  upon  show  and  noise. 
''The  General  understands  the  business,  if 
he  but  had  capital.  He  has  never  been 
beaten ;  but  this  time  it  looks  as  though  he 
might  go  under.  His  enemies  have  set  his 
creditors  to  nagging  him  just  at  the  right 
time  to  injure  him  most." 

"And  does  it  worry  him?"  Breyten 
inquired,  albeit  his  thoughts  were  not 
with  the  question;  he  was  recollecting 
how  General  Banderet  looked  when  he 
met  him  at  the  gate,  and  how  the  little  dog 
behaved,  and  how  Miss  Banderet's  eyes 
looked. 


"Of  course  it  worries  him,"  said  Rayle, 
"but  he  doesn't  show  it.  He's  got  no  end 
of  nerve.  He  will  fight  to  the  last." 

"I  suppose  that  defeat  in  the  conven 
tion,  then,  will  precipitate  financial  ruin." 

"Yes." 

"But  would  election  help  the  matter  in 
the  long  run  ?  Would  that  probably  save 
him?" 

"Certainly.  It  would  give  him  credit, 
and,  if  necessary,  aid.  If  he  carried  the 
party  through,  it  could  afford  to  be 
liberal." 

Breyten  was  silent  for  a  while.  Pres 
ently,  in  a  casual  tone,  he  inquired : 

"Has  the  General  any  family — any  one 
dependent  upon  him  for  support?" 

"His  granddaughter." 

"Miss  Rosalynde?" 

"Yes." 

A  steady,  hard,  searching  look  passed 
68 


between  the  two  young  men.  It  was  as  if 
by  a  single  thrust  of  the  eyes  they  meant 
to  pierce  each  other  through  and  be  done. 
After  a  moment  Breyten  said:  "It's 
pathetic;  it's  a  shame." 

He  did  not  hear  his  own  words.  He 
was  not  present ;  he  was  under  the  bridge 
on  the  Hawford  Road,  with  the  lightning 
ablaze  all  around,  and  Rosalynde  Ban- 
deret  clasping  him  tremblingly. 

Rayle  arose  with  difficulty,  slowly 
straightening  his  lame  leg,  as  far  as  that 
was  possible,  and  handling  his  knotty 
stick.  His  cigar  had  gone  out,  half  burnt ; 
the  stump  was  tightly  pinched  between  his 
teeth.  From  head  to  foot  he  looked 
hopeless.  Breyten  felt  a  strange  thrill  of 
sympathy  creep  over  him,  and  at  the  same 
time  something  that  was  very  like  hatred 
blended  with  the  feeling  when  the  almost 


69 


startling,  manly  beauty  of  Rayle's  face 
flashed  upon  him  with  a  new  light. 

They  parted  for  the  night  without 
further  discussion  of  the  subject  in  which 
they  had  been  so  easily  and  so  disturb 
ingly  entangled  together.  Breyten  went 
to  his  room  with  a  dim  sense  of  being  on 
the  brink  of  some  new  and  questionable 
experience,  in  which,  as  in  a  bewildered 
mist,  he  should  have  to  feel  his  way 
blindly.  He  did  not  realize,  however,  as 
one  coolly  reading  about  it  must,  the  al 
most  absurd  attitude  he  was  assuming 
towards  Miss  Banderet. 

Before  Breyten  went  to  sleep  he 
brooded  over  General  Banderet's  Condi 
tion,  over  Rayle's  fascinating  face  and 
distorted  leg — all  in  connection  with  a 
vision  of  Rosalynde.  And  his  night-cap 
resolution  was  that  he  would  quietly 


70 


wheel  away  from  Haw  ford  on  the  mor 
row's  morning. 

Was  this  resolution  taken  because  he 
had  fallen  in  love  with  Miss  Banderet? 
No,  he  knew  himself  well  enough  to  an 
ticipate  what  he  might  do  were  he  to 
stay  and  play  with  fire;  and  why  should 
not  his  good  sense  prevail  and  draw  him 
forever  away  from  this  possibility  of  en- 
tangkment  ?  -  -  •-.  --• 


Freedom  to  do  just  as  he  wished  doubt 
less  operated  against  Breyten  when  morn 
ing  came,  and  he  faced  his  resolve  of  the 
night  before.  He  was  up  early,  feeling  the 
intoxication  of  pure  delight  in  life.  From 
his  wide  open  windows  he  saw  that  Haw- 
ford  was  responding  through  all  its 
groves  and  gardens  to  an  access  of  golden 
weather. 

Suddenly  he  recollected  that  he  had  de 
termined  upon  wheeling  away  from  Haw- 
ford,  that  he  ought  to  be  packing  his  bags 
and  giving  orders  about  ho\v  and  where 
72 


they  were  to  be  sent  to  intercept  him.  He 
grinned  indulgently  at  himself,  as  it  were, 
feeling  that  there  was  about  as  much  like 
lihood  of  an  earthquake  before  breakfast 
as  that  he  should  depart  without  again 
seeing  Miss  Rosalynde  Banderet. 

Somehow  things  did  not  seem  as 
serious  as  they  had  when  he  went  to  bed. 
He  felt  no  limitations,  no  restrictions.  If 
a  young  woman  charmed  a  young  man, 
by  what  law  was  the  latter  bound  to  flee 
like  a  felon? 

He  had  just  come  from  bath,  glowing 
throughout  his  supple  frame.  He  rang 
and  ordered  a  simple  breakfast  brought 
to  his  room,  ate  heartily,  sipped  his 
coffee  in  a  reverie  as  brown  as  the 
liquid  itself,  and  then  wrote  two  or  three 
letters,  one  of  which  comes  within  the 
limits  of  this  history.  It  was  to  his  con- 


73 


fidential  agent  and  attorney  in  New  York. 
Part  of  it  ran  thus : 

"You  will  please  send  at  once  fifteen 
thousand  dollars  to  the  First  National 
Bank  of  Haw  ford,  Indiana,  to  be  placed 
to  the  credit  of  General  Lucien  Bander ct. 
Do  this  in  such  a  way  that  said  Banderct 
can  never  find  out  whence  the  money 

came.    I  am  particular  on  this  point 

/  also  desire  you  to  send  to  the  same  bank, 
with  the  same  secrecy,  five  thousand  dol 
lars  to  be  credited  to  Alfred  Rayle.  You 
will  write  a  letter  to  each  of  the  above- 
named  persons,  informing  him  curtly  of 
the  fact  that  a  friend  who  wishes  to  be 
unknown  has  sent  the  money.  To  General 
Lucien  Banderct  you  will  say  further  that 
a  part  of  the  money  is  to  pay  the  mort 
gage  on  his  home  in  Hawford,  the  rest 
is  to  defray  the  expenses  of  his  campaign 
for  the  office  of  governor.  To  Alfred 
74 


Rayle  say  that  he  is  to  use  the  amount 
sent  him  in  pursuing  art-study  in  Paris. 
Be  careful  that  nothing  in  your  letter 
(which  is  to  bear  no  signature)  can  pos 
sibly  suggest  a  clue  to  the  donor.  I  trust 
you  to  attend  to  this  promptly  and 
cleverly/' 

Breyten  smiled  a  self-approving  smile 
and  stroked  his  mustache  when  this  letter 
had  been  sealed  and  addressed;  his  face 
showed  that  he  felt  the  stimulation  fol 
lowing  a  disinterested  act  of  kindness. 

And  now  for  a  ten-mile  morning  spin ; 
he  must  work  off  his  excess  of  animal 
energy,  and  at  the  same  time  have  the 
wide  country's  ample  room  in  which  to 
waste  his  accumulation  of  pleasant,  nay 
joyous,  fancies. 

A  young  man  with  an  annual  net  in 
come  of  two  hundred  thousand  dollars  is 
to  be  congratulated  when  he  finds  five 
75 


thousand  a  year  an  ample  allowance  for 
all  his  wants.  To  some  men  the  surplus 
one  hundred  and  ninety-five  thousand 
would  be  a  most  exhilarating  matter  of 
contemplation,  especially  when  the  capital 
affording  it  was  mostly  in  desirable  busi 
ness  buildings  and  government  bonds, 
giving  the  least  possible  trouble  to  their 
owner.  But  Breyten  had  no  feeling  one 
way  or  another  about  his  continually  in 
creasing  wealth;  it  was  a  part  of  him, 
so  that,  when  he  used  it,  the  act  was,  like 
breathing  or  eating  or,  perhaps,  yawn 
ing,  a  mere  response  to  some  actual  or 
fancied  need.  Economy  could  not  come 
up  for  consideration  in  his  mind ;  there 
\vas  no  room  in  his  nature  for  its  laws  to 
operate,  since  neither  prodigality  nor 
avarice  \vas  known  to  him :  he  frankly 
spent  what  he  was  moved  to  spend,  a 
very  safe  rule  in  his  case,  owing  to  his 


perfectly  simple  habits.  What  he  had 
just  done,  however,  lay  outside  the  per 
iphery  of  his  ordinary  field  of  action,  and 
the  sense  of  having  swung  distinctly  be 
yond  this  limit  stirred  in  him  what  time 
he  wheeled  westward  out  of  town  along 
a  shining  white  road. 

A  sudden  impulse  to  scorch  for  a  mile 
or  two  sent  him  off  at  a  reckless  gait, 
dusting  the  air  behind  him,  grinding  the 
surface-pebbles  under  the  growling  tires. 
He  sped  like  a  shot,  ricochetting  rapidly 
yet  almost  imperceptibly  along  the  road 
way  to  some  distant  and  invisible  target. 

And  Breyten  was  a  missile  speeding 
straight  to  a  target.  It  was  fate.  His  im 
mense  energy  was  driving  him  faster  and 
faster,  and  unerringly.  He  forgot  that 
he  was  in  a  public  highway  where  other 
people,  every  person,  indeed,  in  the  whole 
world,  had  as  much  right  to  move  as  he ; 
77 


forgot  that  it  was  unlawful  to  go  tearing 
madly  in  the  path  of  the  people's  pleas 
ure  and  traffic ;  forgot,  in  short,  where  he 
was,  what  he  was,  and  what  way  he  was 
flying,  until  presently  he  hit  the  target.  It 
was  at  a  turn  of  the  road. 

Breyten  was  going  head  down,  seeing 
the  roadway  not  farther  than  twenty  feet 
before  him,  the  intoxication  of  rapid  mo 
tion  adding  to  his  strenuous  expenditure 
of  force.  His  short,  curly  hair  fluttered 
and  gleamed  as  the  air  caught  it;  the 
muscles  on  the  back  of  his  neck  were 
taut,  standing  forth,  smooth  and  large, 
while  the  motion  of  his  limbs  gave  to  his 
body  a  slight  rhythmical  sway  from  side 
to  side.  It  was  at  last  a  speed  dangerous 
to  the  bicycle's  machinery;  for  the  man's 
weight,  at  such  speed,  made  the  impact 
of  tire  upon  pebble  or  insignificant  bump 
in  the  road  a  stroke  of  almost  incalculable 

78 


power.  But  in  the  glow  of  excitement, 
feeling  the  scorcher's  delicious  madness 
bubbling  in  his  blood,  Breyten  thought  of 
nothing,  save  yet  a  little  increment  of 
speed,  until  at  the  turn  of  the  road — 
crash ! 

Now,  just  before  the  catastrophe,  there 
was  a  flash  of  yellow  and  brown.  It  was 
as  if  an  oriole  had  come  darting  down  the 
road  to  meet  him,  and  Breyten  knew  in 
that  twinkle  of  tragic  time  just  what  it 
was. 

They  rushed  together — and  the  end  of  it 
was  a  realistic  accident  at  which  the  com 
munity  was  called  upon  to  grimace  and 
shudder.  The  man  and  the  maid  were 
found  lying  insensible  side  by  side  in  the 
road  amid  the  tangled  shreds  of  their 
bicycles.  Breyten  had  a  double  fracture 
of  the  right  leg  and  a  concussion  which 
at  first  bade  fair  to  kill  him  without  a  re- 
79 


turn  to  consciousness.  Miss  Rosalyncle 
Banderet  had  no  bones  broken,  yet  she 
was,  the  doctors  feared,  more  dangerously 
hurt  than  Breyten :  possibly  there  was  a 
spinal  lesion. 

It  was  a  nine-day  subject  of  conversa 
tion  in  Hawford,  a  bit  of  choice  news  for 
the  daily  papers,  and  then  General  Ban- 
deret's  household  was  left  with  the  main 
burden  to  bear ;  for  in  the  excitement  and 
confusion  following  the  terrible  affair 
Breyten  had  been  taken  along  with  Miss 
Banderet  to  the  General's  home,  and 
there  the  doctors  said  he  would  have  to 
stay,  or  die  in  course  of  removal.  Of 
course,  he  stayed,  and  for  a  long  time.  As 
usual,  however,  the  doctors  were  wrong 
in  their  first  hasty  conclusion,  especially 
as  to  Miss  Banderet's  injuries.  Barring  a 
great  shock  and  some  painful  contusions, 
neither  dangerous  nor  disfiguring,  she  es- 
80 


caped  whole,  and  was  out  of  bed  within 
a  week.  The  missile  was  hurt  far  worse 
than  the  target.  Breyten  lay  for  two 
months,  his  heart-beats  mere  pendulum- 
strokes  counting  the  uncertainties  of  his 
fluttering,  faltering  life.  The  efficient 
surgeon  attending  him  exhausted  his 
science  and  art,  made  the  fight  for  him 
with  consummate  watchfulness  and  pa 
tience,  and,  aided  by  Breyten's  perfect 
physical  soundness  and  vigor,  at  last 
gained  the  victory. 

Rayle  was  tireless  in  his  solicitude  for 
Breyten's  comfort.  Somehow  he  felt  ir 
resistibly  drawn  to  the  handsome  young 
giant,  and  spent  the  greater  part  of  his 
waking  hours  contributing  in  one  way  or 
another  to  aid  the  Banderet  household  in 
its  unflagging  care  of  his  wounds. 

General  Banderet,  after  Rosalynde's 
prompt  recovery,  brightened  up  and  cast 
81 


from  his  mind  a  secret  grudge  that  he  had 
been  holding  against  Breyten  for  his  reck 
lessness  and  its  consequence.  The  old 
man  was  naturally  generous  to  a  fault ;  he 
liked  nothing  better  than  doing  a  liberal 
act ;  and  now  that  his  granddaughter,  the 
core'of  his  heart,  was  out  of  danger,  he 
turned  all  his  impulsive  sympathy  upon 
the  unconscious  and  pathetically  emaci 
ated  young  stranger  who  lay  so  still,  so 
pale,  with  his  massive  frame  slowly  col 
lapsing  day  by  day. 

Meantime  the  remittances  arrived  from 
the  unknown  donor,  fifteen  thousand  to 
the  General,  five  thousand  to  Alfred 
Rayle.  The  notification  from  the  First 
National  Bank  of  Hawford  was  the  first 
hint  to  the  lucky  men  of  their  strange 
stroke  of  fortune ;  but  neither  knew  the 
other's  surprising  secret.  General  Band- 
eret  could  not  credit  his  vision  when  he 
82 


opened  the  note,  so  he  bustled  off  to  the 
bank  in  an  ill-suppressed  mood  of  mind 
bordering  on  utter  demoralization,  but  he 
managed  to  appear  reasonably  indifferent, 
as  if  the  whole  affair  were  a  matter  of 
course.'  There  was  no  explanation  forth 
coming,  and  he  demanded  none.  The 
credit  was  duly  entered  in  the  little  yel 
low  bank-book  that  he  always  carried  in 
the  inside  pocket  of  his  long  frock-coat; 
then  he  cracked  some  political  jokes  with 
the  cashier,  who  was  of  the  other  party, 
and  went  out  laughing. 

As  for  Rayle,  his  surprise  came  like  a 
blow,  leaving  him  numb  and  dazed.  He 
could  not  think  nor  feel  on  the  subject. 
For  a  whole  day  he  carried  the  bank's  curt 
notification  in  his  pocket  and  did  nothing 
about  it.  When  he  began  to  recover  his 
reasoning  powers,  the  first  impression  was 
that  some  person  had  attempted  a  joke 


upon  him,  and  he  came  near  tearing  up 
the  note;  but  after  sleeping  a  night  over 
it  he  was  impatient  for  the  bank  to  open 
in  the  morning  so  that  he  could  test  the 
matter.  What  if  it  were  true ! 

"You're  in  luck,"  said  the  cashier  pleas 
antly.  "Wish  somebody'd  do  something 
like  it  for  me/' 

"Who — who  was  it?"  Rayle  demanded, 
his  voice  almost  betraying  his  deep  inner 
excitement. 

"You  know  as  much  about  it  as  we  do," 
said  the  cashier  rather  indifferently.  "It's 
from  New  York,  and  no  name  given." 
He  smiled  perfunctorily  and  turned  to 
another  customer. 

On  his  way  back  to  his  room  Rayle 
dropped  in  at  the  post-office,  where  he  was 
handed  the  anonymous  letter  from  Brey- 
ten's  attorney  in  New  York.  This  added 
heavily  to  the  weight  of  mystery.  Gen- 
84 


eral  Banderet  fared  the  same,  but  fancied 
that  his  windfall  came  from  a  political 
source;  he  even  suspected  a  very  rich 
friend  of  his  in  New  York.  But  Rayle 
had  no  clue.  To  him  the  whole  thing 
was  like  a  golden  dream,  out  of  which  he 
half  expected  to  be  startled  at  the  next 
moment  by  some  realistic  sound  or  touch. 

A  day  or  two  passed  before  he  could 
break  his  secret  to  Rosalynde,  whose  rapid 
convalescence  was  already  advanced  to 
the  stage  of  sitting,  airily  robed,  on  a  win 
dow-seat  in  the  library,  and  looking  out 
under  the  trees  at  the  robins  hopping 
gingerly  in  the  short  grass. 

Miss  Banderet's  prompt  acceptance  of 
her  lover's  good  luck  as  quite  a  reality, 
to  be  made  the  most  of  without  delay, 
greatly  encouraged  Rayle,  lifted  him  out 
of  the  fog,  so  to  speak,  and  sent  him  in  the 
way  of  clearly  viewing  the  situation. 
85 


They  talked  it  all  over  and  over,  as 
lovers  are  wont  to  talk  over  every 
new  turn  in  their  prospect,  and  settled  and 
unsettled  the  plan  of  action  as  often  as 
they  talked,  until  it  was  finally  determined 
that  Rayle  must  at  once  set  out  for  Paris 
and  rush  his  studies  with  all  his  might, 
cram  two  or  three  years  into  one,  seize 
upon  the  rich  core  of  art  and  tear  it  out 
for  his  own  separate  use  and  benefit,  then 
come  back  ready  for  work  that  should 
amaze  the  world.  It  looked  so  possible, 
so  probable,  so  certain,  so  easy  to  their 
simple  provincial  vision,  which  could  not 
distinguish  the  humor  and  the  pathos  of 
the  picture  nor  the  stiff  seriousness  lurk 
ing  in  its  every  line.  However,  Rayle 
has  his  money,  he  has  kissed  Rosalynde, 
and  with  a  high  heart  is  off  for  Paris. 


At  the  time  of  Alfred  Rayle's  depart 
ure  for  Paris,  Breyten  was  lying  helpless 
in  bed,  scarcely  conscious,  with  his  leg  in 
a  plaster  cast.  The  doctors,  however,  had 
decided  that  he  would  get  well,  provided 
no  unexpected  trouble  should  set  in;  for 
already  the  man's  amazing  strength  and 
vitality  were  doing  wonders,  and  the 
wounds  showed  unmistakable  signs  of  bet 
terment  from  day  to  day.  The  most  diffi 
cult  and  dangerous  part  of  the  surgeon's 
task  was  managing  the  injury  at  the  back 

87 


of  Breyten's  head,  the  cause  of  his  semi- 
comatose  condition. 

In  June  Breyten  began  to  bring  himself 
together,  slowly  comprehending  his  con 
dition,  taking  cognizance  of  his  surround 
ings  detail  by  detail,  what  time  a  phleg 
matic  male  nurse  shuffled  noiselessly  in 
and  out  of  his  large,  airy  room.  He  was 
consolingly  aware,  as  by  an  indirect  beam 
of  consciousness,  that  he  had  been  having 
glimpses  of  Rosalynde  Banderet  flitting 
to  and  fro  somewhere  within  the  field  of 
vision,  a  bright  and  lissome  figure  gently 
rustling,  sweetly  suggestive  of  heliotrope 
and  violet ;  and  as  he  waxed  stronger,  his 
mind  clearing  apace,  there  came  upon  him 
a  great  desire  to  have  her  at  his  bedside 
to  look  at  and  talk  to.  Her  voice  was 
somewhere  near  the  foreground  of  his 
memory,  as  if  it  had  just  died  on  the  air 
and  \vere  still  sweetly  echoing  within  him. 
88 


He  knew  that  during  his  half-conscious 
state  she  had  hovered  near,  and  that  with 
the  first  dawn  of  his  recovery  she  had 
slipped  away.  It  was  delicious  knowledge, 
just  suited  to  his  mood  as  he  lay  on  his 
back  contemplating  the  stucco  rosette  in 
the  middle  of  the  ceiling.  He  heard  the  old 
clock  on  the  stair-landing  pounding  off 
the  seconds,  and  with  the  tail  of  an  eye 
saw  the  flaccid  red-haired  nurse  sitting 
by  a  window  reading  a  book.  There  was 
a  vast  comicality  in  the  fellow's  expres 
sion. 

"Well,  now,  who  upon  earth  are  you?" 
Breyten  demanded,  after  studying  the 
stolid  face  and  stuffy  figure  for  five  min 
utes.  His  voice  was  not  as  weak  as  one 
would  have  expected  it  to  be,  yet  it  lacked 
the  fulness  and  the  resonant  power  it 
once  had.  "You  are  deaf  and  dumb,  eh?" 


89 


he  added,  when  the  nurse,  taken  by  sur 
prise,  failed  to  speak. 

"Yes,  sir — um,  no,  sir.  What'd  you 
say,  sir?" 

Breyten  tried  to  laugh,  but  his  facial 
muscles  acted  stiffly  and  appeared  to  draw 
his  eyes  deeper  into  his  head.  He  was 
sadly  emaciated. 

"Sh-h,  sir,"  continued  the  nurse,  laying 
aside  the  book  and  lifting  a  hand  with 
deprecatory  emphasis.  "You're  not  to 
talk  now;  'taint  good  for  ye." 

Breyten  reflected  a  moment  in  some 
confusion ;  then — 

"You  put  on  airs.  When  were  you 
elected  governor  of  me?"  he  half-humor- 
ously,  half-petulantly  inquired.  "Hand 
me  something  to  throw  at  your  head." 

Just  then  the  surgeon  entered,  moving 
to  the  bedside  with  catlike  swiftness,  his 
bland  face  beaming  surprise  and  interro- 
90 


gation.  He  looked  at  Breyten  as  if  he  ex 
pected  something  tragic;  but  his  face 
quickly  brightened. 

"Ah,  good-morning,"  he  said,  laying  a 
hand  gently  upon  his  patient's  wrist. 
"You  feel  pretty  well,  I  see.  Don't  worry 
yourself  to  speak.  I'm  your  doctor," — 
this  in  answer  to  an  inquiring  look, — "and 
I  don't  want  you  to  think  or  speak  much 
for  a  while.  Your  pulse  is  excellent,  you 
are  getting  on  famously.  All  that  you 
need  is  rest.  You  must  be  patient," — 
Breyten  had  scowled  atrociously  at  him; 
— "you  must  not  excite  yourself ;  you — " 

"I  want  some  water — cold  water,  a 
quart — to  drink,"  Breyten  hoarsely  inter 
rupted.  "I've  a  beastly  thirst." 

Obedient  to  the  doctor's  glance,  the  nurse 
shuffled  out;  but  before  he  returned  with 
the  water  Breyten  had  fallen  away  again 
into  a  gentle  sleep,  from  which  he  did  not 


wake  for  two  hours.  He  dreamed  of  Rosa- 
lynde.  He  saw  her  before  him,  close,  and 
yet  far  off,  as  if  through  miles  of  shimmer 
ing  mist.  He  spoke  to  her,  but  without 
voice,  quite  unable  to  make  her  hear;  he 
tried  to  touch  her,  but  his  hand  lay  power 
less;  at  the  same  time  he  heard  a  dove 
cooing,  and  felt  a  light  current  of  air  run 
ning  over  him  with  soothing  effect,  and  he 
knew  that  the  window  beside  his  bed  was 
open.  Then  the  old  clock  on  the  stair- 
landing  struck  eleven,  and  he  half  opened 
his  eyes. 

Rosalynde  Banderet  was  gliding  to 
wards  the  door  that  gave  into  the  hall. 
Half  turned  from  him,  her  face  showed  a 
pretty,  clear-cut  profile. 

"Don't  go  away  from  me ;  come  back ! 
come  back !"  he  suddenly  called.  "I  want 
you." 

She  faced  him  with  a  quick  startled 
92 


movement,  and  a  sweet  smile  flashed  over 
her  face.  At  the  same  time  she  laid  her 
finger  on  her  mouth  with  a  look  that  com 
manded  silence.  The  nurse  moved  around 
the  bed,  pretending  to  straighten  the 
cover,  and  said, — 

"The  doctor  told  you  not  to  talk,  sir." 

"And  /  told  you  that  I'll  shy  something 
heavy  at  your  head,"  Breyten  remarked, 
almost  in  his  natural  voice,  a  ghastly 
flicker  of  good-natured  impatience  in  his 
countenance.  "But  if  you  fetch  me  a 
drink  of  cold  water  we'll  call  it  square." 

Rosalynde  had  stopped  by  the  door, 
after  a  step  or  two  backward,  and  now  she 
moved  aside  to  let  the  nurse  pass  out  on 
his  quest  in  Breyten's  behalf;  then  she 
again  attempted  to  leave  the  room,  not 
trusting  herself  to  look  towards  him. 

"No;  you  stay,  please,"  he  said  very 


93 


gently.  "You  won't  go  away  and  leave 
me?" 

"Harper  will  return  in  a  minute,"  she 
replied. 

"Harper  ?     Who's  Harper  ?" 

"The  man  who  nurses  you — who  just 
now  went  to  get  you  water." 

"That  stupid  lump!  He  has  red  hair, 
and  he's  clammy." 

The  childish  petulance  of  Breyten's 
voice  affected  Miss  Banderet  strangely; 
she  turned  her  eyes  upon  him  again  to  see 
if  his  mind  might  be  wandering,  but  she 
could  not  at  first  be  sure.  He  was  fright 
fully  haggard,  and  his  look  had  a  most 
pathetic  appeal  in  it;  moreover,  the  rav 
ages  of  pain  had  not  destroyed  the  noble 
beauty  of  his  face;  it  had  but  given  it  an 
almost  unearthly  strangeness.  Furtively 
she  had  watched  him  during  his  period 
of  awful  danger,  with  a  sense  of  responsi- 
94 


l)ility  for  his  condition;  for  she  too  was 
riding  very  fast  when  the  accident  hap 
pened.  It  was  unspeakable  relief  to  her 
now,  seeing  in  a  moment  that  he  was  com 
ing  to  a  more  natural  expression,  and  that 
his  eyes  gave  forth  a  gentle  light  when 
he  said : 

"You  might  be  kind  to  a  fellow  in  such 
need.  Sit  on  the  chair  here  and — what's 
the  matter  with  me  ?  My  leg — 

She  moved  quickly  to  his  bedside.  The 
nurse  came  in  with  the  water. 

"What  has  happened  to  me?"  Breyten 
inquired  after  a  pause,  during  which  he 
was  weakly  fumbling,  trying  to  make  out 
the  meaning  of  the  plaster  east  on  his  leg. 

"You've  been  hurt,  sir,  and  you  mustn't 
talk,"  said  the  nurse. 

But  he  did  talk,  and  finally  there  was 
nothing  to  do  short  of  explaining  every 
thing  to  him. 

95 


In  a  few  days  he  was  eating  well  and 
looking  much  better.  Slowly  his  cheeks 
filled  out  and  his  eyes  regained  their  hap 
py,  steadfast,  magnetic  light. 

Miss  Banderet  was  kind  to  him.  She 
chatted  with  him,  saw  that  the  house 
keeper  and  servants  neglected  nothing 
conducive  to  his  comfort,  and,  when  the 
doctor  at  last  permitted  it,  she  read  to 
him  an  hour  every  day.  This  hour  had 
its  fascination  growing  upon  Breyten  rap 
idly  from  the  first.  He  looked  forward 
to  it  with  impatience  and  back  at  it  with 
tender,  reminiscent  delight.  She  had 
stately  little  ways,  an  inscrutable  reserve, 
a  glowing  country-girl  complexion,  and 
an  intelligence  which  was  apt  to  take  him 
unawares.  He  soon  discovered  that  he 
had  not  been  mistaken  as  to  her  relations 
with  Rayle.  Unquestionably  they  were 
lovers;  almost  certainly  they  were  en- 

96 


gaged.  This  was  food  for  uneasy  thought 
while  he  listened  to  her  sweetly  monoto 
nous  reading  of  "Children  of  the  Abbey" 
-think  of  it,  "Children  of  the  Abbey" ! 
— which  she  had  come  across  in  the  attic. 

One  day  during  the  reading  a  little 
servant-girl  came  to  the  open  door  with 
letters  from  the  post-office.  Rosalynde 
pounced  eagerly  upon  her,  and,  snatching 
the  tray,  selected  her  own  mail,  then  gave 
Breyten  his,  and  was  off  to  her  room, 
leaving  behind  her  an  indescribable,  tan 
talizing  impression  of  flower-like  purity 
quaintly  sophisticated  with  provincial  wis 
dom.  He  lay  for  a  long  time  thinking 
over  all  that  had  passed  since  that  day  at 
the  bridge,  and  trying  to  realize  the  mean 
ing  of  it,  for  somehow  one  always  feels 
that  there  is  a  meaning  in  each  group 
of  incidents  affecting  one's  life. 

There  was,  however,  a  certain  drop  of 
97 


gall  in  his  cup  of  reflections.  The  glimpse 
of  a  foreign  postage-stamp  on  one  of 
Rosalynde's  letters,  and  the  flush  of  joy 
on  her  cheek  when  she  saw  it,  told  him 
that  the  missive  was  from  Rayle. 


During  the  tedious  process  of  what 
Breyten  called  "sloughing  his  shell," 
which  was  getting  rid  of  the  plaster  cast, 
there  was  not  much  that  he  could  do  for 
himself  beyond  nagging  at  the  nurse, 
Harper,  and  counting  the  seconds  be 
tween  times  when  Rosalynde,  a  punctual 
visitor,  came  in  to  see  him;  but  when  at 
last  the  stiff  crust  was  removed  from  his 
leg  he  began  forthwith  to  contemplate  get 
ting  out  of  bed.  Here  again  he  surprised 
the  little  surgeon,  for  the  fractures  were 
found  to  be  already  not  only  firmly  knit, 
99 


but  in  every  way  well,  so  that  within  less 
than  a  week  he  could  use  his  leg  with  al 
most  perfect  freedom. 

"That/ s  your  sound  constitution,  your 
absolutely  pure  blood,  your  vigorous 
nerve-centers,"  said  the  man  of  science  in 
a  warmly  appreciative  tone.  "You've 
never  abused  your  fine  physique,  and  in 
turn  it  is  good  to  you  in  your  hour  of 
need." 

Breyten  decided  that  he  would  go  back 
to  the  hotel,  but  General  Banderet  laid  his 
veto  upon  the  proposition. 

"No,  sir,  you  will  permit  me  to  be  firm," 
said  the  fine  old  man.  "I  can  not  let  you 
be  hauled  away  from  my  house.  When 
ever  the  doctor  says  that  you  can  safely 
walk  to  the  hotel,  then  you  may  go,  if  you 
must.  Meantime,  just  to  please  me,  you 
will  stay  right  \vhere  you  are." 

The  nominating  convention  was  close 
100 


at  hand,  and  the  General  had  little  leisure. 
His  young  opponent  showed  great  re 
sources  and  no  scruples  whatever  in  using 
them;  he  forced  the  old  "war-horse"  to 
such  a  pitch  of  speed  that  there  was  dan 
ger  of  a  break.  Excitement  reached  a 
stage  pretty  accurately  indicated  by  the 
newspaper  headlines  and  double-leaded 
editorials,  which  somehow  made  the  very 
types  look  frantic.  Breyten  read  the 
blatant  literature  of  the  campaign  with  a 
growing  impression  that  General  Bande- 
ret  was  pretty  sure  to  be  defeated ;  and  for 
the  first  time  in  his  life  he  felt  a  thrill  of 
political  partisanship  stir  his  blood. 

"Unless  something  almost  miraculous 
can  be  done  in  your  grandfather's  favor," 
he  suddenly  remarked  to  Rosalynde  one 
morning,  "he's  going  to  be  badly  defeat 
ed  in  the  convention." 

She  started  and  gave  him  a  quick  look ; 
101 


he  saw  a  faint  pallor  spread  over  her 
cheeks  as  she  said :  "Surely  not.  Why 
do  you  think  so?" 

"Well,  I  hardly  know.  I've  been  read 
ing  the  pros  and  cons  in  the  newspapers. 
Somehow  I  feel  catastrophe  in  the  air." 

He  was  sorry  in  a  moment  for  having 
spoken  at  all, — especially  sorry,  realizing 
the  brutal  frankness  of  his  words;  but  it 
was  too  late  to  avoid  full  responsibility, 
so  he  went  on  giving  in  detail  his  reasons 
for  fearing  that  General  Banderet  was 
hardly  holding  his  own  in  the  race;  but 
he  softened  his  tone. 

Rosalynde  regained  her  composure  in 
a  moment  and  listened  without  further 
show  of  feeling.  In  fact,  she  had  been 
for  several  days  troubled  about  her  grand 
father's  political  prospect,  and  it  was  more 
sudden  confirmation  of  her  fears  than  sur 
prise  at  Breyten's  statement  that  had 
1 02 


thrown  her  into  momentary  confusion. 
She  had  heard  General  Banderet  say  more 
than  once  that  defeat  would  mean  his 
complete  and  final  retirement,  which  was 
equivalent  to  saying :  "It  will  be  the  end 
of  all  my  hopes,  the  crushing  of  my  life's 
ambition.  I  shall  have  no  further  interest 
in  existence." 

She  had  a  general  impression  of  what 
a  pitiful  figure,  what  a  pathetic  wreck,  is 
the  old  and  broken-down  politician, 
stranded  on  the  sand,  so  to  speak,  and  left 
all  alone  by  his  partisan  friends,  once  so 
numerous,  active,  and  noisy ;  but  she  could 
not  imagine  her  grandfather  descending 
to  that  estate ;  she  dared  not  think  of  it— 
would  not. 

Yet  whatBreyten  had  said  seemed  to  her 

weighted  with  authority,  because  it  came 

from  him.     Somehow  he  had  forced  her 

to  believe  in  him  at  all  points,  and  yet  he 

103 


had  not  made  any  apparent  effort  to  do  it, 
rather  the  contrary  in  some  particulars; 
for  his  whimsical  humor  and  frequent 
fretfulness  on  account  of  his  confinement 
were  not  especially  impressive. 

"I  despise  politics,"  she  said,  "and  I 
can  not  understand  how  a  man  like  grand 
father  can  be  so  enthusiastic,  so  vehement 
in  pursuit  of  office,  when  he  says  himself 
that  there's  no  pay  in  it." 

"I  imagine  that  it's  not  for  the  salary 
that  he  desires  election,"  Breyten  replied. 
"The  fascination  lies  deeper.  Ambition 
is  a  reckless  rider,  going  at  a  breakneck 
gait  for  the  glory  of  the  race  and  the  mad 
sense  of  victory  when  the  shouting  and 
applause  come  on." 

"We  gave  a  practical  demonstration  of 
it,  I  suppose,  in  our  riding  the  other  day," 
she  demurely  suggested, — "two  ambitions 


104 


going  blindly  in  opposite  directions  along 
the  same  line." 

"You  earned  the  applause,"  he  said; 
"but  it  isn't  always  that  it  turns  out  so 
well.  Mere  brute  weight  usually  tri 
umphs  ;  at  least  it  is  so  in  politics,  and  the 
crowd  admires  the  triumphant  scoundrel 
more  than  the  wrecked  gentleman.  Force 
is  magnetic." 

"It  all  seems — seems  vulgar  to  me." 
She  hesitated,  then  added  :  "But  men — it 
is  different  to  them,  I  suppose." 

"Not  to  all  of  them." 

"Not  to  you?" 

"I  have  been  so  much  abroad  that  I 
have  never  yet  cast  a  vote,  much  less  en 
tered  into  the  scramble  of  politics." 

"Alfred  told  me"— she  flushed— "Mr. 
Rayle  mentioned  your  having  studied  art 
in  Paris." 

"He  was  wrong;  I  did  not  study,  I 
105 


played.  I  have  always  played.  Study  is 
a  great  bore.  When  you've  done  your 
utmost  and  learned  something  of  which 
you  hope  to  be  the  one  master,  you  are 
bumped  against  by  a  dozen  or  so  fellows 
who  know  it  ten  times  better  than  you  do. 
What's  the  use?" 

"If  you  are  a  genius,  it  is  different,  isn't 
it?" 

"We  don't  have  geniuses  nowadays.  If 
any  are  born,  they  die  young.  They  starve 
early.  They  can't  make  a  living.  The 
specialists  rob  them." 

"How  do  you  know?"  she  demanded, 
almost  too  peremptorily.  "Why  do  you 
say  so?" 

"From  one  end  of  the  world  to  the 
other  I've  seen  them  perishing,  the  poor 
fellows.  In  New  York,  not  a  cent ;  in 
London,  not  a  penny ;  in  Paris,  not  a  sou ; 
in  Rome,  not  a  soldo ;  but  they  have  stat- 
106 


nes,  poems,  paintings — garrets  full  of 
them.  They  died  miserably,  and  nobody 
seemed  to  care  a  straw." 

She  looked  at  him  steadily,  intently, 
while  he  was  speaking.  He  saw  that  his 
words  hurt  her ;  nor  was  he  in  doubt  why 
they  hurt  her.  Curiously  enough,  he  felt 
a  stir  of  pleasure  deep  within  him, — he 
was  glad  to  hurt  her  in  that  way.  But 
at  the  same  time  a  pang  of  something  like 
remorse  cut  across  his  conscience;  he 
ought  to  have  detested  himself. 

"But  Alfred — Mr.  Rayle — is  unfortu 
nate  ;  he  is  crippled,  and  you  advised  him 
She  checked  herself.  "I  mean," 
she  went  on,  "that  his  case  is  different; 
he  could  not  do  physical  labor." 

Breyten  laughed  at  this  absolutely 
frank  disclosure  of  his  real  meaning. 

"We  won't  apply  my  sweeping  state 
ments  to  Mr.  Rayle,"  he  said.  "I  don't 
107 


think  that  he  really  fancies  himself  a 
genius — " 

"Yes,  he  does,"  she  interrupted,  "and  so 
do  I.  He  is  a  genius,  and  he'll  not  fail — 
I  know  he  won't." 

"Pluck  and  dogged  persistence  are  what 
I  hope  he  has,"  Breyten  said,  making  an 
effort  to  appear  impartial.  "There's  some 
chance  in  art,  even  now,  for  high  sincerity 
and  enormous  labor.  I  found  that  out 
while  I  was  playing  in  a  Paris  studio.  I 
lacked  everything  that  art  demanded  of 
me.  I  thought  I  was  a  genius.  'Labor 
did  not  agree  with  me, — it  never  does 
with  a  man  who  thinks  he's  a  genius ; 
therefore  I  escaped  the  horrors  of  an 
artist's  life." 

His  lightness  of  tone  scarcely  deceived 
her,  yet  it  gave  her  a  certain  relief.  He 
saw  her  face  change. 

"Maybe  what  you  look  upon  as  horrors 
108 


are  great  delights  to  others,"  she  ven 
tured,  not  very  confidently.  "You  feel 
about  art  as  I  do  about  politics;  but  you 
and  I  must  admit  that  men  have  succeeded 
in  both,  and  that  they  may  again." 

"It's  owing  to  what  we  take  for  suc 
cess,"  he  replied.  "I  don't  call  a  life 
long  fever,  a  continuous  state  of  burning 
discontent,  and  a  death  of  despair  success 
worth  naming.  I  never  knew  an  artist 
who  wasn't  jealous  of  every  other  artist, 
never  saw  one  who  wasn't  sickly,  who 
wasn't  in  debt,  who  wouldn't  sacrifice 
everybody  and  everything  for  his  am 
bition.  Show  me  an  artist,  and  I'll  show 
you  a  thoroughly  selfish  and  unreliable 
person." 

"You  are  chaffing,"  she  said.  "Be  se 
rious,  please."  She  paused ;  although  she 
was  smiling,  he  saw  that  her  heart  was 
shaking  the  drapery  below  her  throat.  "I 
109 


really  wish  you  to  be  perfectly  frank," 
she  presently  added,  "for  I  am  interested. 
You  can  tell  me  just  what  I  want  to 
know." 

"If  I  can,  I  will,"  he  promptly  re 
sponded  ;  "but  I'm  afraid  that  I  shall  not 
be  very  comforting  if  I  tell  the  square 
truth." 

"Do  you  think  that  Mr.  Rayle  can  suc 
ceed  as  an  artist?"  she  demanded,  with 
an  inimitable  blunt  sweetness  of  speech. 

He  was  wholly  unprepared  for  this  in 
terrogatory,  albeit  he  was  not  unaware  of 
her  impulse  and  its  source.  Something 
in  her  voice,  her  look — something  not  be 
fore  felt  or  seen — caught  him  up  breath 
less,  and  set  him  to  thinking  after  the 
manner  of  one  who  is  suddenly  forced 
into  great  peril.  It  was  as  if  he  felt  his 
hold  upon  something  very  precious  slip 
ping  off  by  his  own  carelessness,  or  rather 
no 


his  own  weakness  of  grip.  Not  that  he 
had  been  so  bold  as  to  think  he  held  her 
in  any  way;  but  he  now  realized  how 
sweet  and  withal  how  heady  was  the 
draught  of  her  loveliness,  and  how  pre 
cious  the  fine  light  of  her  girlish  character. 
What  she  had  done  for  him  during  his 
time  of  twilight  and  doubt,  while  life 
sank  so  low  in  his  veins,  came  to  mind 
with  a  surge.  And  he  had  hurt  her,  had 
wilfully  stabbed  at  her  pure  heart  with  the 
subtlest  of  poison  on  his  assassin  knife! 
He  was  poet  enough  to  make  his  figure  of 
thought  romantically  effective  to  his  own 
imagination.  Moreover,  he  was  honest 
enough  to  realize  that  the  situation  de 
manded  something  of  him  as  liberally  un 
selfish  as  his  words  of  a  moment  before 
had  been  selfishly  mean. 

"I  certainly  hope  Mr.  Rayle  will  suc 
ceed,"  he  presently  said.     "Of  course,  I 
in 


do  not  know  much  about  him.  He  im 
pressed  me  as  a  man  of  fine  mind  and 
character,  and  he's  handsome,  attractive." 

"But  you  have  no  confidence  in  the  out 
come  of  his  venture;  you  think  he  will 
fail;  you  may  as  well  say  it." 

"And  what  do  you  think?"  he  de 
manded. 

"I  think — "  She  hesitated  in  her  pecu 
liar  way,  turning  a  ring  on  her  finger,  her 
head  slightly  to  one  side.  "I  don't  know. 
He's  brave  and  determined.  What  is  pos 
sible  to  do  he  will  accomplish." 

Breyten  was  thoughtful  for  some  mo 
ments  before  he  said : 

"You  must  at  least  be  prepared  for  fail 
ure.  It's  really  the  most  probable  thing; 
but  I  don't  regard  it  as  calamity.  He 
can  come  back  and  go  at  something  else. 
Art  is  not  the  whole  of  life." 

"I  think  that,  too,"  she  said,  "but  he 
112 


doesn't.  To  him  it  is  different.  It's  his 
lameness,  I  believe,  that  makes  him  so 
terribly  in  earnest.  I  did  not  want  him  to 

go." 

"You  are  going  to  marry  Mr.  Rayle?" 
Breyten  was  not  sure  that  such  a  question 
was  in  the  least  proper.  His  training  and 
experience  had  not  been  of  a  sort  to  lead 
him  into  the  refinements  of  conventional 
politeness,  but  he  felt  a  sudden  desire  to 
reach  a  perfect  understanding  with  her, 
to  have  from  her  own  lips  confirmation 
of  what  he  already  felt  could  not  be 
doubted.  And  yet  the  mere  thought  sent 
a  chill  through  his  heart. 

"Yes,"  she  answered  promptly,  as  if  al 
most  eager  to  acknowledge  it ;  "we  are  to 
be  married  when  he  comes  back  from 
Paris.  It  is  no  secret;  our  engagement 
has  been  announced.  This  is  why  I  want 
ed  you  to  tell  me  just  what  you  thought 


of  his  chance  to  win  what  he  went  for." 

"He  will  win,  he  must  win,"  Breyten 
said,  in  a  tone  that  was  very  sympathetic 
and  encouraging.  "In  such  a  case  I 
should  win  or  tear  up  the  whole  French 
metropolis,"  he  added  after  a  pause. 
"When  I  was  there  I  had  no  incentive 
such  as — such  as  you  have  given  him." 

There  came  a  splendid  light  into  her 
eyes,  while  her  cheeks  paled  a  trifle,  and 
the  fluttering  of  the  drapery  below  her 
throat  was  renewed.  Her  lips  were 
slightly  parted,  but  she  was  scarcely  smil 
ing. 

"I  hope  that  he  is  entirely  worthy  of 
you/'  Breyten  continued,  his  voice  almost 
failing  him.  "Were  I  but  in  his  place 
— "  He  caught  himself  and  broke  off  the 
sentence.  "If  he  is  worthy  of  his  fortune, 
he  will  mould  fate  to  his  liking." 

The  girl's  brown  eyes  read  his  heart 
114 


while  he  was  speaking  in  this  half-evasive 
way,  and  she  felt  a  strange  pang  in  her 
own  breast ;  but  there  was  nothing  for  her 
to  say  to  him,  nothing  to  do  but  remark 
that  her  time  was  up,  that  she  must  go  and 
attend  to  other  duties. 

"My  time  is  up,  too,"  he  said  with  a 
shadowy  smile.  "I  also  must  go.  You 
have  been  so  good  to  me.  It's  choking 
me  to  say  farewell."  He  rose  and  held 
out  his  hand.  "What  a  very  angel  of 
kindness  and  comfort  you  have  been  to 
me !  Good-by." 

"But  no,  you  are  not  going  now?"  she 
said,  making  a  move  to  take  his  hand,  but 
arresting  it  at  the  start.  "You — you  are 
not  well  enough."  Her  voice  faltered  in 
her  throat. 

"The  doctor  says  I  am.  And  besides, 
it's  time:  you  know  it  is.  Good-by."  He 
spoke  huskily.- 


She  offered  her  hand  now,  and  he  was 
sensible  enough  to  take  no  liberty  of 
pressure  or  detention.  It  was,  indeed,  a 
curiously  abrupt  leave-taking.  General 
Banderet  was  out. 

"I  will  see  him  down  town,  soon,  and 
give  him  my  gratitude  and  adieux,"  said 
Breyten,  trying  to  be  airily  cheerful.  And 
so  he  went,  not  trusting  himself  to  look 
back  until  the  street-gate  clinked  be 
hind  him.  His  heart  was  pounding  at 
his  throat,  a  sensation  he  had  never  before 
felt,  and  while  he  stood  for  a  long  minute 
gazing  at  the  stately  old  house,  he  realized 
how  powerless  he  was  to  resist  something 
that  had  laid  hold  of  him.  Moreover,  he 
knew  just  what  it  was. 

"I  love  her!    I  love  her!"  he  panted 

forth,  all  unconscious  of  the  stage-face  he 

was  making,  or  of  the  almost  ludicrous 

melodramatic  attitude  he  assumed  as  he 

116 


clutched  the  top  of  the  gate  and  appeared 
on  the  point  of  rending  it. 

Then  he  let  go  his  hold  on  the  gate  and 
turned  towards  the  hotel,  shaking  off  the 
mood  with  a  smile  of  returning  self-con 
fidence.  He  walked  without  limping, 
scarcely  showing  a  sign  of  his  recent  in 
juries. 


117 


As  soon  as  Breyten  was  gone,  Rosa- 
Ivnde  began  to  realize  that  his  presence 
in  the  house  had  meant  a  great  deal  to  her. 
A  lonesome  silence  seemed  to  have  filled 
the  halls  and  chambers  when  she  turned 
from  an  upper  window,  whence,  through 
a  rift  in  the  foliage,  she  had  seen  him  walk 
away,  tall  and  straight,  along  the  tree- 
shaded  pavement.  He  disappeared  after 
a  pace  or  two,  leaving  in  her  brain  an  im 
pression  not  easily  cast  out. 

A  few  minutes  later,  when  the  morning 
mail  was  handed  in,  there  were  two  let- 
118 


ters  from  Rayle  and  his  photograph,  the 
latter  a  tiny,  unmounted  portrait  striking 
ly  lifelike  and  handsome.  Rosalynde 
turned  to  these  with  frank  delight;  but 
somehow  Paris  seemed  infinitely  distant, 
as  if  borne  suddenly  away  to  the  dimmest 
of  horizons,  and  the  half-smiling  face  of 
her  lover  gave  forth  no  influence  save 
that  of  remoteness  and  complete  separa 
tion.  The  clear,  dark  eyes  looked  at  her 
without  interest  or  speculation ;  their  gaze 
was  a  steadfast,  luminous  indifference. 

She  read  the  letters,  however,  to  better 
effect,  for  Rayle's  style  of  writing  con 
veyed  an  immediate  impression  of  reality, 
and  she  quickly  warmed  to  his  enthusi 
astic  descriptions  of  his  new  experiences 
and  surroundings:  He  had  not  yet  be 
gun  his  studies,  but  was  going  up  and 
down  Paris,  feasting  his  provincial  eyes 


upon  the  fascinating  urban  wonders  open 
ing  at  every  turn. 

One  thing  in  the  letter  of  latest  date 
struck  Rosalynde  with  the  force  of  a  reve 
lation.  It  referred  to  the  money  which 
had  been  so  mysteriously  sent  to  Rayle. 

"I  have  been  thinking  it  over,"  he 
wrote,  "and  I  now  feel  tolerably  certain 
that  our  friend  Breyten  is  the  person  who 
furnished  the  money.  I  do  not  know  that 
he  is  rich,  but  he  must  be,  and  I  remember 
things  that  he  said  to  me,  things  not  par 
ticularly  significant  at  the  time,  yet  almost 
conclusive  to  my  mind  when  I  consider 
them  in  perspective  and  with  the  light  of 
all  the  circumstances  to  help  me.  Of 
course,  I  may  be  quite  off  in  my  conclu 
sion,  so  it  will  be  best  not  to  speak  of  it. 
Whoever  it  was  who  sent  the  money,  the 
amount  is  but  a  loan ;  I  am  going  to  pay  it 
back  with  interest.  What  a  chance  it  has 
120 


given  me !  I  feel  the  inspiration  of  it  in 
every  drop  of  my  blood." 

The  suggestion  of  the  paragraph  cor 
responded  in  some  way  with  Rosalynde's 
mood,  and  it  added  greatly  to  her  ro 
mantic  impression  of  Breyten's  personal 
ity.  She  immediately  suspected  that  her 
grandfather's  money  had  come  from  the 
same  source  that  had  supplied  Rayle.  It 
was  like  a  fairy  story;  it  burst  upon  her 
imagination  with  strange  splendor;  and 
at  the  same  time  it  seemed  to  confirm  and 
perfect  certain  hitherto  inchoate  sus 
picions  which  she  had  been  unable  to 
grasp  fully  or  fairly  examine. 

Rayle  had  talked  to  her  so  much  about 
the  power  of  money,  had  pictured  to  her 
the  almost  omnipotent  influence  of  riches 
with  such  reckless  eloquence,  that  the  bare 
possibility  of  Breyten's  turning  out  to  be 
a  millionaire  in  the  disguise  of  a  careless 

121 


tourist  awheel  had  a  dazzling  yet  some 
what  depressing  effect  upon  her  mind. 
She  sat  by  a  window  and  looked  forth, 
without  seeing  the  trees  in  the  old  garden 
or  the  robins  on  the  grass.  Curiously 
enough,  her  lover  had  passed  out  of  her 
mind;  his  letters  and  photograph  lay  un 
noticed  in  her  lap. 


122 


General  Banderet  was  beaten. 

At  the  last  moment  his  young  com 
petitor  for  the  nomination  shook  a  po 
litical  trump  card  out  of  his  sleeve  with  ir 
resistible  effect ;  the  Banderet  forces  were 
surprised  to  such  a  degree  that,  within  the 
time  at  command,  they  could  not  rear 
range  themselves  to  meet  the  new  issue, 
and  all  was  lost. 

At  about  three  in  the  afternoon  the  first 

news  of  the  catastrophe  reached  Hawford 

by  wire  from  Indianapolis.     Breyten  had 

arranged  to  have  an  early  message,  but  a 

123 


clique  of  local  politicians  were  ahead  of 
him,  and  the  rumor  passed  along  the 
street  before  his  first  dispatch  arrived.  He 
heard  men  telling  one  another ;  some  were 
swearing  viciously  and  some  were  rejoic 
ing.  His  first  thought  was  of  Rosalynde, 
whom  he  had  not  seen  since  leaving  the 
Banderet  home. 

Just  before  he  went  to  Indianapolis  to 
open  what  he  spoke  of  as  his  "headquar 
ters"  at  a  hotel,  General  Banderet  had 
called  upon  Breyten,  and  what  he  said 
took  the  young  man  somewhat  by  sur 
prise.  The  General  was  nothing  if  not 
warm  in  his  manner,  and  he  professed 
great  embarrassment. 

"I  could  not  get  up  the  courage  to  men 
tion  it  while  you  were  at  my  house,"  he 
said;  "and  then,  as  you  know,  I  was  at 
home  very  little  during  your  convales 
cence.  This  devilish  campaign  took  all 
124 


of  my  time.  But  I  feel  in  honor  bound 
to  tell  you  that  when  the  doctors  thought 
you  were  going  to  die,  I  looked  into  your 
papers,  and  so  discovered  who  you  are." 
He  hesitated  a  moment,  as  if  expecting 
Breyten  to  speak,  then  added  :  "But  I've 
kept  your  secret  from  everybody.  Not  a 
soul  but  myself  knows  it.  I  hope,  sir, 
that  you'll  not  think  I  did  wrong." 

"You  did  exactly  right,  General,"  said 
Breyten,  as  soon  as  he  could  pull  himself 
together.  "I  am  glad  that  you  were  so 
thoughtful,  and  I  can  never  repay  your 
disinterested  and  noble  kindness.  I  have 
been  trying  to  see  you  ever  since  I  came 
away  from  your  house;  I  wanted  to  tell 
you—" 

"My  dear  sir,  no — it  was  nothing,  less 
than  nothing.  My  granddaughter's  care 
lessness  in  running  against  you  was  the 
cause  of  it  all,  and  the  very  least  that  I 


could  do  was  the  most  that  I  could  do, 
which  was  poor  enough." 

"Miss  Banderet  did  not  run  against 
me,"  Breyten  replied  with  emphasis.  "I 
dashed  right  over  her,  and,  besides,  I  was 
on  the  wrong  side  of  the  road,  scorching 
like  a  blind  idiot.  She  was  not  in  the 
least  to  blame ;  she  couldn't  have  got  out 
of  my  way  to  save  her  life." 

"You  are  generous,  and  I  won't  argue 
the  point,"  the  General  said  suavely;  "I 
only  say  what  she  reported.  Rosalynde 
—my  granddaughter — said  that  you  were 
not  in  the  least  to  blame.  She  said  that 
she  was  riding  as  fast  as  she  could  go  and 
paying  no  earthly  attention  to  what  or 
who  might  be  coming.  But  let  that  go. 
I'm  so  glad  that  you're  both  out  of  it  so 
well  that  I  don't  care  whose  fault  it  was." 

"Well,  I  do  care,"  Breyten  insisted.  "It 
is  an  abominable  injustice  to  lay  the 
126 


slightest  blame  upon  Miss  Banderet,  and 
it  sha'n't  be  done." 

The  old  man  smiled  in  his  most  bland 
and  gracious  way, — the  smile  had  always 
been  his  chief  political  attraction,  and  long 
practice  had  arranged  the  wrinkles  in  his 
face  ready  to  produce  it  with  the  least 
possible  effort  on  his  part. 

"I  had  but  a  moment  before  going  to 
my  train/'  the  General  said,  rising  and 
lifting  his  great  smile  with  him,  "and  I 
ran  in  to  say  just  a  word  or  two."  He 
extended  his  hand  as  Breyten  rose  also. 
"I  must  hurry  away.  Only  four  days  un 
til  the  convention  sits;  and  I  have  hot, 
hard  work  before  me.  I  dread  it." 

"I  heartily  wish  you  success,"  said 
Breyten.  "Is  there  anything  that  I  can 
possibly  do  to  aid  you?  If  so,  command 
me,  General;  I  am  yours  for  all  I  am 
worth." 

127 


The  young  man's  transparent  sincerity 
was  so  different  from  what  General  Band- 
eret's  experience  with  political  friends  had 
kept  before  him  that  it  sent  something 
like  a  waft  of  refreshment  through  him. 
His  smile  changed,  his  eyes  softened.  He 
said  :  "Thank  you,  sir,  thank  you.  No, 
it's  with  the  party  leaders  now,  and  I 
think  I'm  all  right.  From  this  on  the 
struggle  will  be  along  the  line  of  secret 
combinations  with  the  candidates  for 
the  other  offices.  But  I  must  be  off.  See 
you  again  when  I  come  back." 

On  his  way  to  the  railway  station  Gen 
eral  Banderet  stepped  into  the  bank  to  get 
some  money,  and  was  informed  that  an 
other  credit  of  ten  thousand  dollars  had 
been  surreptitiously  added  to  his  account. 
He  drew  a  small  amount  and  went  his 
\vay  in  a  fever  of  delight,  for  now  he  felt 
sure  that  the  money  came  from  the  cof- 
128 


fers  of  an  enormously  rich  presidential 
candidate,  who  in  his  own  interest  wanted 
him  nominated;  and  if  this  were  so,  it 
would  follow  that  the  deus  ex  machina, 
which,  according  to  political  custom,  had 
to  be  let  down  in  the  convention's  midst 
to  control  things  at  the  last  moment,  must 
be  favorable  to  the  Banderet  cause. 

Breyten  was  not  surprised  when  the  ru 
mor  of  General  Banderet' s  defeat  reached 
him ;  he  had  expected  it ;  yet  he  could  not 
guard  against  a  stroke  of  unreasonable 
disappointment,  and  it  irritated  him  to 
hear  the  hotel  loungers  making  their 
brutal  comments.  Somehow  Rosalynde 
seemed  to  him  so  closely  connected  with 
her  grandfather's  fate  that  it  was  as  if 
her  name  and  fame  were  being  bandied 
by  the  political  rabble. 

What  would  be  the  effect  upon  her? 
His  first  impulse  was  to  go  forthwith  to 
129 


her  with  a  goodly  burden  of  cheer  to  lavish 
upon  her.  Certainly  a  bright  and  light- 
hearted  girl  of  her  character  would  not 
take  a  matter  of  this  sort  too  seriously; 
and  would  it  not  be  a  proper  thing  for 
him  to  help  her  turn  the  optimistic  side 
of  the  incident  firmly  outward  ? 

Then  suddenly  his  heart  sank  as  he 
thought  of  Rayle  standing  in  his  way 
and  forbidding  every  gentle  and  tender 
act.  The  girl's  accepted  lover  had  the 
exclusive  right  to  what  he,  Breyten,  was 
turning  over  in  his  mind  as  a  ravishing 
anticipation. 

He  sat  there  scarcely  aware  of  the  gab 
bling  crowd  of  excited  and  beery  politi 
cians;  their  comments  no  longer  irritated 
him;  he  was  wrestling  with  himself. 

It  is  not  in  the  nature  of  a  bold-hearted 
young  man  to  doubt  his  ability  to  win  the 
girl  he  loves  over  all  comers.  Breyten  felt 
130 


sure  he  could  make  Rosalynde  love  him 
to  the  utter  destruction  of  every  claim 
that  Rayle  had  upon  her.  He  even 
fancied  that  already  he  had  stirred  her 
heart.  But  could  he  honorably  go  a  sin 
gle  step  farther?  Was  not  complete  and 
unconditional  abandonment  of  the  field 
the  imperious  demand  of  duty?  Duty! 
that  is  a  cup  of  wormwood  offered  instead 
of  the  wine  for  which  our  whole  being 
thirsts.  He  made  a  wry  face  at  the 
thought.  And  then  there  was  a  fresh  stir, 
with  broken  ejaculations  and  a  quick 
grouping  of  the  men  around  the  desk, 
where  messages  were  being  received. 

"Dead!  General  Banderet?  How's 
that?" 

"Dropped  dead  on  the  platform  in  the 
convention  hall." 

"The  devil  you  say!" 


Breyten  was  listening  with  suspended 
breath. 

"How'd  it  happen?" 

"Read  that  despatch." 

Men  tiptoed  to  look  over  one  another's 
shoulders,  while  some  person  in  the  center 
of  the  compact  group  read  aloud : 

"INDIANAPOLIS,  3:12  p.  M.  General 
Lucien  Banderet  fell  in  an  apoplectic  fit 
while  attempting  to  move  the  unanimous 
endorsement  of  the  nominee.  He  died 
before  medical  aid  could  avail.  Great 
confusion  and  excitement." 

"Pore  old  man,  he  was  hit  hard,"  said 
a  benevolent-looking  fellow  who  wore  the 
opposition  badge.  "He  ortn't  to  a-run ;  he 
was  too  old." 

Breyten  let  fall  his  paper  and  sprang  to 
his  feet.    In  the  intensity  of  his  feeling  it 
was  as  if  he  saw  the  blow  of  the  terrible 
news  fall  upon  Rosalynde. 
132 


With  a  blur  of  conflicting  emotions  in 
his  mind,  he  made  some  hurried  inquiries 
of  the  men  nearest  to  him,  and  then 
sought  the  quiet  of  his  room  to  be  alone 
while  he  considered  what  he  must  do.  He 
could  not  escape  from  the  shadowy  half- 
impression  that  in  some  way  he  had  been 
instrumental  in  developing  the  tragedy 
which  must  cast  upon  a  young  and  inex 
perienced  girl  a  terrible  shock  and  per 
haps  change  her  whole  life. 

In  the  course  of  a  few  moments  he  re 
ceived  a  telegraphic  message  confirming 
what  had  already  been  made  public,  with 
the  additional  statement  that  the  General's 
body  would  be  taken  at  once  to  Hawford. 

Breyten  could  not  think;  the  whole 
tragedy,  grim  and  dark,  was  refractory 
when  he  tried  to  consider  it.  One  thing, 
however,  was  clear  to  him;  it  would  be 
unbearable  to  see  Rosalynde  and  not  be 
133 


able  to  try  to  comfort  her;  and  besides, 
what  right  had  he  to  go  to  her  in  her  afflic 
tion?  He  walked  to  and  fro  with  his 
hands  clasped  behind  him.  What  was  he 
to  do  ?  He  could  not  retreat,  he  could  not 
go  forward. 

In  fact,  he  did  nothing.  He  even  for 
got  his  dinner  and  went  to  bed  late  to  toss 
from  side  to  side  and  argue  with  himself. 
Next  day  he  avoided  the  hotel  lobby  and 
did  not  go  out  to  take  the  walk  which 
since  his  recovery  had  been  a  daily  com 
fort  and  source  of  reinvigoration.  What 
was  going  on  in  his  mind  made  him  feel 
the  need  of  absolute  isolation  and,  so  to 
speak,  insulation. 

In  spite  of  himself,  a  sense  of  guilt  hov 
ered  close  to  every  thought,  and  from  this, 
had  he  been  older,  he  might  have  foretold 
the  outcome  of  his  moral  ferment.  But  he 


was  young,  and  youth  is  as  obtuse  and  un 
certain  as  it  is  agile  and  flexible. 

Over  and  over  he  said :  "It  is  a  question 
of  privilege."  And  then  he  leaped  up, 
shaking  his  head  like  a  young  lion.  "Love 
is  free.  He  wins  who  can !"  he  cried.  His 
own  voice  made  him  recoil. 


135 


After  the  funeral  of  Rosalynde's 
grandfather  it  was  announced  in  the 
newspapers  that  Dr.  Roger  Banderet, 
with  his  wife  and  daughter,  had  ar 
rived  from  New  Orleans  and  would 
spend  some  time  at  the  home  of  his  broth 
er,  the  late  General  Lucien  Banderet.  The 
public  was  further  informed  that,  by  the 
General's  will,  Miss  Rosalynde  was  made 
the  sole  successor  to  her  grandfather's  es 
tate,  and  that  as  soon  as  the  proper  for 
malities  of  a  legal  settlement  were  over 


she  would  go  with  her  relatives  to  live  in 
New  Orleans. 

Breyten  read  this,  and  felt  a  sudden 
fear  that  should  he  delay  longer  Rosa- 
lynde  might  be  gone  away  before  he  could 
see  her,  even  to  say  good-by.  But  could 
he  trust  himself  to  say  good-by?  Could 
he  say  it  ? 

The  next  day  he  was  called  to  Indian 
apolis  upon  business  which  to  most  men 
would  have  proved  very  exciting.  His 
lawyer  had  hastened  from  New  York  with 
papers  for  him  to  sign  in  connection  with 
an  estate  suddenly  falling  to  him  from  an 
eccentric  bachelor  uncle  just  dead. 

But  additional  millions  really  meant 
little  to  him,  nor  did  his  uncle's  death 
disturb  him,  for  he  had  never  seen 
that  somewhat  disreputable  and  very  mis 
erly  kinsman,  nor  had  he  heard  the  least 
good  of  him  from  any  source  whatever. 


He  did  not  at  once  try  to  realize  what  the 
doubling  of  his  income  stood  for  in  the 
way  of  personal  influence  and  material 
power,  and  his  acceptance  of  the  estate 
was  perfunctory  to  the  last  degree. 

From  Indianapolis  he  had  to  go  to  Chi 
cago,  then  to  Milwaukee  and  Minneapolis, 
where  tedious  processes  of  court  transfers 
of  large  real  estate  interests  occupied  him 
for  several  weeks:  At  times  he  felt  that 
the  play  was  not  wTorth  the  candle.  Why 
should  he  waste  all  this  precious  time  obey 
ing  the  beck  and  call  of  that  sordid  god, 
Business?  It  were  better  to  lose  all  the 
old  miser's  grimy  treasure  than  to  miss 
one  accent  of — 

But  here  he  always  broke  off,  for  there 
was  something  'in  him  that  recoiled. 

Matters  dragged ;  the  careful  and  plod 
ding  lawyer  insisted  upon  patience  and 
orderly  attention  to  every  detail  as  it  came 
138 


up  for  consideration;  and  so  September 
was  hanging  a  new  moon  in  her  dusky 
evening's  sky  when  Breyten  once  more 
reached  Hawford.  By  this  time  he  had 
settled  the  question  as  to  what  he  would 
do,  and  he  meant  to  do  it.  Rosalynde  and 
Alfred  Rayle  were  lovers  and  engaged  to 
be  married.  To  interfere,  or  try  to  inter 
fere,  would  be  wrong.  His  duty  was 
clear.  He  would  be  a  man,  in  short,  and 
face  the  inevitable  with  a  firm  counte 
nance.  All  he  had  to  do  was  very  simple ; 
he  would  call  upon  Miss  Banderet, — he 
sternly  thought  of  her  now  as  Miss  Ban 
deret, — say  good-by,  and  be  off  about  his 
pleasure.  He  was  in  such  haste  to  carry 
out  this  simple  plan  of  action  that  when 
he  reached  the  hotel  he  could  scarcely  be 
reasonable  and  wait  until  eight  o'clock, 
which  somehow  he  had  learned  was  the 
hour  for  evening  calls  in  Hawford. 
139 


A  pile  of  letters,  accumulated  during 
his  long  absence  from  the  hotel,  lay  on  his 
table,  but  he  did  not  open  them,  or  even 
look  them  over.  They  could  wait  a  few 
hours  longer;  in  the  morning  would  be 
time  enough. 

The  streets  were  empty  when  he  went 
out;  everybody  had  gone  to  the  opera 
house  to  listen  to  a  speech  by  the  candi 
date  for  governor.  In  passing  an  alley 
Breyten  looked  up  the  forlorn  stairway 
leading  to  Rayle's  studio.  The  electric 
light  from  the  saloon  opposite  shone  upon 
the  grimy  ladder.  It  was  not  a  pleasant 
moment  in  which  to  recall  Rayle's  posi 
tion  as  master  of  fate,  and  unconsciously 
Breyten  hastened  his  steps.  When  he 
reached  the  Banderet  homestead  there  was 
no  gleam  in  the  windows.  He  stood  on 
the  threshold  in  the  dark  for  a  while,  hear- 


140 


— the  light  shone  upon  the  forlorn 
stairway  leading  to 
Rayle^s  studio 


ing  only  a  screech-owl  and  a  gentle  sough 
ing  in  the  trees. 

He  listened,  and  a  queer  sense  of  isola 
tion  and  defeat  came  upon  him;  then  he 
banged  the  heavy  knocker  until  growling 
echoes  and  clanking  responses  seemed  to 
return  from  every  room  within.  The 
house  was  untenanted,  as  the  very  atmos 
phere  declared,  and  Breyten  felt  as  empty 
as  if  life  itself  had  gone  from  him  on  a 
visit.  He  crammed  his  hands  deep  into 
his  pockets  and  stood  scowling  at  the  sur 
rounding  gloom.  There  was  nothing  to 
do  but  go  back  to  the  hotel  and  wait  un 
til  he  could  find  out  whither  the  Banderets 
had  flown:  Then  he  reflected  that  it  cer 
tainly  was  none  of  his  business  to  be  hunt 
ing  on  the  track  of  people  who  cared  noth 
ing  for  him.  So  he  strode  straightway  to 
his  rooms  with  his  head  high,  doughtily 
smiling  to  think  how  strong  he  was. 
141 


Among  the  letters  on  his  table  lay  one 
from  Rayle.  He  knew  it  as  soon  as  he 
spied  it,  although  he  never  before  had 
seen  the  man's  chirography.  It  may  have 
been  the  Paris  postmark  that  conveyed 
the  impression,  or  it  may  have  been  in 
tuitive  grasp  of  probabilities ;  at  all  events, 
he  tore  open  the  envelope  and  unfolded 
the  letter  with  no  kindly  feeling  for  the 
writer,  not  anticipating  anything  worth 
reading,  and  yet  greedily  scanning  the 
lines.  Somehow  the  man's  name  was  a 
burden  to  Breyten  now,  the  memory  of 
him  a  shadow  in  his  mind.  As  for  the 
letter,  it  surprised  him.  He  read  it  twrice : 

"DEAR  MR.  BREYTEN  :  When  you  re 
ceive  this  letter  I  shall  be  in  the  hands  of 
a  surgeon  specialist  who  is  to  make  my  leg 
straight.  He's  a  great  doctor;  maybe 
you've  heard  of  him,  Dr.  Jules  de  Mont- 


142 


ravin.  He  says  that  I  am  to  be  a  perfect 
physical  man  in  a  fezv  weeks.  He  guar 
antees  it.  Yon  know  what  this  means  to 
me,  and  to  Rosalynde.  It  means  more  than 
art  or  fame  or  fortune.  I  am  not  letting 
Rosalynde  knozv  that  I  am  doing  this. 
She  would  worry  and  imagine  dire  re 
sults;  and,  besides,  I  want  to  come  home 
and  surprise  her. 

"Noiv  I've  got  to  tell  yon  more,  which 
you  will  keep  sacredly  secret.  I  have 
abandoned  art.  .  /  can't  see  how  I 
ever  began  zvith  it.  The  masters  here 
showed  me  quickly  that  I've  not  the  least 
call  to  painting,  not  even  sign  painting. 
This  has  made  me  willing  to  undergo  the 
terrible  ordeal  of  the  hospital  If  I  come 
out  all  right  I'll  go  at  the  law  or  medicine 
or  ministry  or  real  estate  or  anything.  If 
I  die,  it's  all  over. 

"To  be  blunt  and  honest  with. you,  I 
143 


must  tell  you  that  I  think  you  arc  the  one 
who  gave  me  my  chance  in  life.  If  I 
am  wrong,  you'll  not  care;  if  I  am  right, 
words  are  no  evidence  of  the  obligation 
and  thankfulness  I  feel.  Rosalynde  writes 
me  often  about  you;  she  thinks  you  a  won 
derful  man,  and  so  do  I.  If  I  come  out  of 
this  with  perfect  limbs.  I'll  be  a  wonderful 
man  too. 

"I  felt  bound  to  tell  you  all  this,  which 
may  not  interest  you  in  the  least.  The 
thought  that  probably  you  furnished  the 
money  to  pay  my  way  seemed  to  make 
it  right  for  me  to  let  you  know  what  I  am 
doing.  At  all  events,  you  have  my  secret 
now,  and  I  implicitly  trust  you  to  keep  it. 

"I  was  about  to  forget  one  thing,  per 
haps  the  most  important,  certainly  the 
most  disagreeable,  of  all.  I  am  writing 
a  lot  of  letters  to  Rosalynde,  to  be  dated 
properly  hereafter  and  sent  to  her  during 
144 


the  time  that  I  shall  be  under  torture  and 
unable  to  write  or  dictate  or  do  anything 
but  groan  or  lie  in  the  stupor  of  drugs. 
These  letters  will  tell  her  how  well  I  am 
doing  in  my  studies,  and  all  that}  to  keep 
her  happy.  As  soon  as  I'm  over  it  I  shall 
write  the  whole  truth  to  her.  God  bless 
her  and  you. 

"Yours  sincerely, 

"ALFRED  RAYLE." 

The  letter  was  posted  on  the  day  of 
General  Banderet's  death.  Doubtless 
Rayle  had  entered  hospital  before  the 
tragic  news  reached  him,  or  more  prob 
ably  it  had  not  reached  him  at  all,  as  his 
doctor  would  almost  certainly  forbid 
anything  exciting  while  an  operation  so 
delicate  and  dangerous  was  going  on. 

To  Breyten  the  time  had  seemed   so 
long   that   now,    as   he   looked   back   to 
Rayle's  last  interview  with  him,  he  found 
H5 


himself  wondering  if  it  might  not  he  that 
Rayle  was  dead.  Surely  some  word  would 
have  come  from  him  had  the  surgery  been 
successful.  But  then  while  in  hospital 
he  could  not  write;  he  had  said  so  in  his 
letter,  and,  besides,  it  would  be  to  Rosa- 
lynde  that  the  first  news  would  go. 

There  was  another  letter,  however,  lying 
on  the  table  that  very  moment,  which 
presently  Breyten  read.  It  was  from  the 
great  Parisian  specialist.  It  ran  in  sub 
stance  thus : 

"Your  friend,  Mr.  Alfred  Rayle,  who 
is  under  treatment  with  me,  begs  me  to 
say  to  you  that  he  is  doing  very  well  and 
will  be  perfectly  cured  at  the  end  of  two 
months  from  this  time.  He  particularly 
wishes  you  to  tell  no  one  anything  about 
his  condition." 

Distance  takes  the  reality  out  of  things 
by  hanging  over  them  a  mist  of  vaguer 
146 


ness.  Breyten  had  traveled  enough  to 
overcome  the  illusion,  but  yet  he  could  not 
feel  the  immediate  touch  of  fact  from 
what  he  had  read.  He  tried  to  imagine 
how  Rayle  would  look  standing  up  firmly 
on  two  good,  straight  legs.  He  even  at 
tempted  to  measure  the  rearranged  man 
with  himself.  They  would  be  different; 
but  he  feared  that  Rayle  might  be  the 
handsomer,  so  dark,  so  magnetic,  so  finely 
and  massively  regular  were  his  features. 
He'  crumpled  the  doctor's  letter  impa 
tiently. 

Other  surprises  awaited  him  in  the  yet 
unopened  missives  on  the  table.  A  small 
photograph,  taken  from  a  portrait  of  his 
mother  painted  by  a  celebrated  artist,  fell 
out  of  an  envelope  along  with  a  sheet  of 
dainty  note-paper,  on  which  he  read : 

"Somehow  I  must  have  sent  the  wrong 
picture  in  my  other  note.  Won't  you 


please  return  it  to  me  at  Old  Point  Com 
fort?  ROSALYNDE  BANDERET." 

After  a  few  moments  given  freely  to 
dizzy  gazing  at  the  signature,  as  if  it  had 
been  Rosalynde  herself,  he  nervously  fin 
gered  the  remaining  envelopes  for  "my 
other  note"  until  he  found  it.  His  heart 
quivered,  or  seemed  to,  and  a  tender  sense 
of  weakness  crept  through  him  when  he 
drew  forth  another  little  photograph. 
Then  his  eyes  dilated  dreamily ;  for  there 
she  was,  Rosalynde,  just  as  he  saw  her 
under  the  bridge.  He  almost  forgot  to 
read  the  accompanying  note,  so  long  was 
he  absorbed  in  gazing  and  remembering. 

"We  are  leaving  for  Old  Point  Com 
fort.  I  sazv  in  the  newspapers  that  you 
were  to  be  absent  some  time,  so  I  inclose 
this  photograph,  which  you  told  me  was 
of  your  mother.  You  left  it  in  a  book, 
and  I  accidentally  found  it." 
148 


The  date  opposite  Miss  Banderet's  sig 
nature  was  more  than  three  weeks  in  the 
past,  and  he  saw  that  the  other  note  had 
been  posted  at  Washington  City.  But  the 
photograph,  although  a  trifle  worn,  as  if 
by  much  carrying  about  and  indifferent 
handling,  was  sufficiently  vivid  to  hold 
Breyten's  eyes  away  from  everything  else. 
He  looked  at  it  and  dreamed  over  it  until 
far  in  the  night.  The  round,  frank  eyes, 
the  sweet,  immature  mouth,  the  softly 
oval  cheeks,  the  lissome  form,  were  those 
of  a  girl  in  her  mid-teens,  a  girl  just 
blooming  into  what  Rosalynde  was  on  the 
day  of  their  meeting  at  the  bridge.  A 
painter  might  have  made  much  of  Brey 
ten's  unconscious  pose.  The  picture  lay 
flat  upon  the  table  almost  between  his  el 
bows,  while,  with  his  hands  in  his  hair, 
clutching  the  bright,  short  locks  on  either 
side  of  his  big  head,  he  gazed  and  smiled 
149 


ancj  frowned  and  chewed  his  mustache,  as 
though  mad  and  glad  and  perplexed,  but, 
over  all,  despairing. 

The  last  thought  before  he  went  to 
sleep,  was  that  he  would  have  a  copy  of 
the  photograph  before  he  sent  it  back. 
Nor  did  conscience  seem  to  take  cogni 
zance  of  his  purpose,  for  early  next  morn 
ing  he  went  straightway  and  accomplished 
it  without  a  qualm;  and  for  fear  some 
thing  might  go  wrong  with  the  negative, 
he  kept  the  original  until  he  had  his  fin 
ished  copy,  a  remarkably  good  one,  in 
hand. 

By  this  time  he  was  ready  to  write  \vhat 
he  regarded  as  a  well-considered  and  thor 
oughly  disinterested  letter  to  Miss  Ban- 
deret.  He  was  so  fastidious  about  the 
composition,  indeed,  that  he  was  more 
than  a  week  doing  it;  but  when  at  last  it 
seemed  just  what  it  ought  to  be,  he. mailed 


it  with  the  tiny  picture  carefully  inclosed ; 
nor  did  he  find  out,  until  too  late,  that, 
by  some  unaccountable  slip,  he  had  sent 
the  copy  instead  of  the  original.  Some 
how  the  discovery  touched  him  accurately 
upon  the  spring  that  loosed  the  jocund 
spirit  so  natural  to  him,  and  he  laughed  in 
his  old  boyish,  hearty  way,  holding  the 
picture  before  him  and  gazing  at  it  as  if  it 
had  said  or  done  something  extremely 
mirth-provoking,  albeit  the  sweet,  open 
look  of  the  girl's  eyes  was  bewitchingly 
serious. 

"It  is  preposterous!"  he  presently 
thought.  "It's  outrageous!  And  what 
will  she  say?  God  bless  her!" 

He  kissed  the  picture  at  least  twenty 
times  before  a  wave  of  soberness  checked 
him,  and  then  he  thought  of  Rayle. 


Now  this  is  what  Breyten  wrote: 

"DEAR  Miss  BANDERET  :  Both  of  your 
notes  were  on  my  table  when  I  returned 
nearly  a  month  after  they  were  written. 
I  read  the  second  one  first;  then  I  was  in 
a  great  hurry  to  open  the  other  and  when 
I  did  open  it  the  inclosure  surprised  and 
delighted  me.  The  photograph  shows 
you  exactly  as  you  looked  that  day  under 
the  bridge.  I  see  you  before  me  while  I 
zvrite,  your  eyes  gazing  past  me  with  a 
vast,  sweet,  ravishing  indifference.  Pre 
cisely  so  does  this  little  photograph  which 
152 


/  so  grudgingly  will  return  to  you  in  this 
letter. 

"I  am  of  half  a  mind  to  keep  this  for 
lorn  little  picture  of  you.  Somehow  I 
feel  that  possession  of  its  original  in  my 
deepest  memory  has  proved  my  right  to 
hold  fast  the  shadow.  As  I  probably  shall 
never  see  you  again,  as  I  probably  ought 
never  to  see  you  again,  and  knowing  that 
you  are  not  to  be  troubled  with  what  I 
may  tell  you  about  myself,  I  am  going  to 
say  the  whole  truth.  The  moment  that  I 
saw  you  at  the  bridge  out  yonder  you 
took  a  deep  hold  of  my  heart.  I  feel  that 
I  have  loved  you  passionately  every  mo 
ment  since  we  met.  But  since  I  found  out 
your  engagement  to  Mr.  Rayle  I  have 
been  trying  to  reconcile  myself  to  the  in 
evitable.  I  can  not  do  it;  I  can  only 
stand  upon  my  honor;  I  can  only  say  to 
myself  that  you  are  beyond  my  reach — 
153 


that  I  must  not  try  to  reach  you.  You 
love  Rayle;  he  is  a  splendid  fellow;  he 
loves  you;  you  two  are  engaged  to  be 
married;  that  is  all.  I  am  outside  and 
must  stay  there.  I  see  in  the  eyes  of  this 
picture  that  from  the  first  you  were  sealed 
against  me;  you  were  reserved  for  Rayle. 
It  is  hard  on  me;  but  then  what  a  stroke  of 
high,  sweet  fortune  for  Rayle!  I  go 
down,  he  goes  up.  What  a  weight  it  is 
that  bears  me  dowm,  and  what  a  lift  of  joy 
is  his!  I  ought  not  to  wish  or  even  dream 
of  shifting  my  burden  to  him. 

"In  writing  all  this  to  you  I  feel  doubt 
ful  and  uneasy  about  my  right  to  do  it — 
not  my  right  to  love  you,  for  somehow 
that  seems  unquestionable  and  a  thing  to 
die  by.  The  trouble  is  Rayle.  The  man 
rushed  into  my  sympathy  and  regard  at 
our  first  meeting.  He  seemed  so  earnest, 
so  sincere,  and  so  brave  under  great  dis- 
154 


advantage,  and  it  seems  to  me  that  you 
must  have  given  him  his  courage. 

"When  I  returned  and  found  that  you 
were  gone,  my  first  impulse  was  to  follow 
you,  to  keep  you  in  sight,  to  linger  near 
you.  But  what  right  have  I,  I  thought, 
to  go  where  she  is?  So  I  am  not  going  to 
follow  you;  I  am  going  as  far  from  you 
as  I  can,  not  to  try  to  forget  you, — /  can 
never  do  that, — but  to  be  sure  that  yon 
shall  not  suffer  on  my  account. 

"Just  now,  when  I  looked  from  this 
writing  to  your  picture,  the  face  seemed 
to  smile  upon  some  one  far  off,  past  me. 
And  then  suddenly  I  was  under  the  bridge, 
and  the  storm  was  on,  and  your  arms 
went  around  me  tight,  tight,  so  that  I  felt 
a  great,  sweet  joy  tingle  all  through  me. 
I  can  write  this  frankly,  because  I  am 
never  to  see  you  again,  and  because  your 
love  for  Rayle  will  prevent  everything 
155 


that  else  might  come  of  such  a  confession; 
but  it  seems  unnatural,  somehow,  that  you 
should  have  loved  any  man  but  me,  and  I 
tell  you  now  that  I  shall  never  feel  differ 
ently  about  it,  no  matter  what  comes. 

C( Doubtless  I  am  seeming  very  foolish 
to  you,  as  you  read  this;  for  I  think  it  is 
quite  impossible  to  make  intelligible  ex 
planation  of  an  inward  condition  like 
mine,  or  to  give  any  adequate  excuse  for 
what  I  am  compelled  to  write.  My  whole 
future  seems  uninteresting,  not  worth  liv 
ing  in,  and  I  am  without  aim.  Why 
should  I  have  met  you  at  the  bridge  out 
yonder?  Why  did  you  nurse  me  back  to 
lifef 

"I  do  not  mean  to  be  foolishly  senti 
mental;  what  good  could  it  do?  And  be 
sides,  it  is  not  my  nature  to  pule  and 
mope;  but  what  is  life  worth  when  a  man 
loses  what  I  have?  What  would  life  be 


worth  to  you  were  you  to  find  that  Alfred 
Rayle  loved  not  you,  but  another  girl? 
That  is  a  practical  question  zvhich  makes 
my  condition  somewhat  within  your 
reach.  Look  at  it  seriously.  What  would 
life  be  worth  to  Rayle  if  he  were  to  dis 
cover  that  you  were  in  love  with  some 
other  man?  Imagine  the  thing  in  that 
brutal  way.  You  see  that  it  would  be  like 
the  end  of  life. 

"But  how  shall  I  end  this  letter? 
Something  drags  at  me  and  tells  me  that 
I  ought  to  tear  it  up  and  end  it  so.  A 
weight  of  doubt — about  my  right  to  tell 
you  how  I  feel — hinders  thought  and  con 
fuses  my  language,  so  that  I  do  not  say 
just  ivhat  I  wish  to.  Yet  I  am  somehow 
quite  sure  that  your  dear  heart  will  tell 
you  what  I  can  not. 

"I  inclose  your  picture.  I  want  to  keep 
it,  and  I  do  not  want  to  keep  it.  It  is  you, 
157 


and  it  is  not  you.  If  gladdens  me,  and  it 
overwhelms  me  with  despair.  I  do  not 
know  what  I  am  going  to  do.  No  need  to 
stay  here;  for  I  hear  that  you  are  not  com 
ing  back  any  more,  and  I  do  not  expect 
you  to  answer  this  letter.  You  can  not 
answer  it.  What  could  you  say?  You 
are  happy  and  deserve  to  be  happy  always, 
and  it  can  not  matter  with  you  if  I  never 
again  find  the  old  careless,  merry  life  so 
suddenly  snatched  from  me.  But  one 
thing  I  know :  you  will  never  forget 

"FREDERICK  BREYTEN." 

After  this  absurd  letter — it  seemed  to 
Breyten  to  grow  in  absurdity  as  days 
went  by — had  floated  down  the  stream  of 
the  mail  going  eastward,  and  after  a 
whole  week  of  unaccountable  listlessness, 
Breyten  began  to  expect  an  answer.  But 
how  could  there  be  an  answer?  He  had 


had  nothing-  to  write,  and  he  had  written 
worse  than  nothing.  Rosalynde  would 
be  a  strange  girl  were  she  to  take  any  no 
tice  of  such  an  epistle.  Still,  there  he  was 
for  more  than  a  fortnight,  lingering  at 
Hawford,  and  growing  excited  whenever 
the  postman  arrived  at  the  little  hotel. 

If  he  had  known  that  his  letter  to  Miss 
Banderet  was  following  her  from  Old 
Point  Comfort  to  Asheville,  thence  to 
Aiken,  and  on  to  Savannah,  to  Atlanta, 
to  Lookout  Mountain,  and  then  to  Bir 
mingham,  Mobile,  and  finally  New  Or 
leans — if  he  had  known  of  that  long,  slow 
chase,  he  might  still  have  waited.  But 
how  could  he  know?  Time  bore  upon 
him  like  an  atmosphere  strangely  stale. 
He  walked  out  to  the  Banderet  place  and 
took  a  doleful  last  look  at  it,  then  went 
straight  to  New  York,  where  two  weeks 
later  he  met  Rayle,  who  had  just  arrived 
1.59 


from  Paris;  and  what  a  splendid  figure 
he  was ! — straight  as  an  arrow,  admirably 
proportioned,  and  of  noble  presence;  a 
dark,  magnetic,  powerful-looking  man. 
The  distinguished  surgeon  had  done  his 
work  to  perfection. 

They  met  in  one  of  the  great  hotels, 
coming  face  to  face  so  suddenly  that  both 
stopped  short,  and,  half  recoiling,  stood 
for  a  moment  gazing.  Breyten  turned 
slightly  pale,  but  Rayle  flushed  and  looked 
glad,  extending  his  hand  presently  with 
a  hearty  exclamation  of  greeting.  Two 
handsomer  men, — opposite  and  perfect 
types  of  masculine  beauty, — never  shook 
hands  in  the  great  city. 


i6o 


At  a  considerable  distance  from  Canal 
Street,  on  St.  Charles,  in  New  Orleans, 
the  Banderet  residence,  a  stately  mansion 
withdrawn  amid  its  tropical  trees  behind, 
a  massive  brick  wall,  attracts  the  eye  of 
every  passer  who  has  a  taste  for  the  pic 
turesque.  The  heavey  iron  gate  has  a 
mighty  lock,  and  through  the  bars  there 
shimmers,  as  if  drowsily,  the  greenery  of 
a  remarkable  garden,  across  which  a 
straight,  broad,  white  walk  leads  to  a 
flight  of  stone  steps,  rising  to  a  heavy 
veranda,  where  vines  flourish. 
161 


We  must  enter  this  guarded  close  if  we 
wish  to  see  once  more  Rosalynde  Ban- 
deret ;  for  this  is  the  home  of  Dr.  Roger 
Banderet,  a  man  of  great  wealth,  who  will 
henceforth  be  Rosalynde's  protector  and 
adviser. 

It  is  a  hot  day,  even  for  New  Orleans, 
and  the  afternoon  drags  slowly.  A  light 
breeze  pants  in  the  foliage  that  darkens 
the  veranda  and  seems  to  be  dying  there, 
while  in  hammocks  swung  side  by  side 
Rosalynde  and  her  cousin,  as  she  calls 
her  great-uncle's  daughter  Angelie,  are 
drowsing  and  chatting  by  turns,  dressed 
as  becomes  the  weather  and  the  place. 
Angelie  has  just  the  slightest  Creole  lisp 
on  her  tongue,  and  in  figure  and  face 
looks  more  French  than  Rosalynde, 
though  resembling  her  in  a  marked  de 
gree.  She  is  the  child  of  her  father's  old 
age,  her  mother  being  a  young  Creole 
162 


— through  the  bars  of  the  iron  gate 
shimmers  the  greenery  of  a  garden 


woman  by  whom  came  the  doctor's  great 
wealth,  the  fortune  of  a  second  marriage. 

Angelie  was  busier  with  her  tongue 
than  Rosalynde.  Her  remarks  ranged 
from  beaux  to  mosquitos,  and  were  in 
terspersed  with  snatches  of  song  bewitch- 
ingly  delivered.  The  divine  magic  was 
in  her  voice,  as  the  ravishing  power  of 
beauty  was  in  her  face  and  form.  One 
must  have  felt  at  a  glance  that  she  was  far 
more  wordly-wise  than  Rosalynde;  and 
certainly  her  form  showed  richer  outlines, 
her  face  greater  maturity  of  development ; 
yet  she  was  more  girl  than  woman  by 
every  sign  we  usually  take  for  our  guess 
ing. 

"I  told  papa  it  was  too  early  to  come  to 
New  Orleans,"  she  melodiously  grumbled, 
meantime  lying  almost  on  her  back  and 
picking  at  a  Cuban  fan,  "but  he  heard 
something  about  the  cotton  market  that 

163 


made  him  deliriously  anxious  to  see -his 
broker.  Heigho,  men  are  such  delightful 
idiots !  Don't  you  just  love  'em  and  hate 
'em?  Now,  for  example,  there's  Freddie 
Amsley ;  he's  charming  until  you  mention 
the  exchange  or  cotton,  then  off  he  goes, 
crazy  as  can  be.". 

Rosalynde  knew  little  enough  about 
how  men  gambled  in  the  cotton  game,  but 
she  had  vivid  memories  of  her  grandfa 
ther's  troubles  with  the  wheat  game  in 
Chicago,  his  winings  and  his  losings,  his 
ups  and  his  downs, — the  downs  gradually 
but  surely  gaining  on  the  ups,  until  there 
were  no  ups.  She  did  not  respond  to  An- 
gelie's  prattle,  but  let  her  mind  reach  out 
after  the  dear  old  home  .at  Hawford. 

"What  is  your  handsome  and  noble 
bicyclist's  name?"  Angelie  went  on  in  her 
inconsequent,  skipping  way,  referring  to 


164 


a  previous  conversation  about  Breyten. 
"I  can't  keep  it." 

"Breyten,"  said  Rosalynde  absently. 

"Well,  I  should  think  he  might  at  least 
write  to  you  and  tell  you  something  ro 
mantic.  And  he's  a  poet  too-!  I'm  afraid, 
Rose,  my  sweet,  that  you  neglected  to  get 
your  charm  woven  over  him  as  you  ought. 
Tall,  commanding,  you  say  he  is,  and  fair, 
with  golden  hair  and  honest,  earnest,  elo 
quent  eyes.  Ah  me !  Somehow  no  such 
romantic  knights-errant  ever  come  my 
way.  Nobody  but  men  like  Freddie  Ams- 
ley — young  men  who  talk  money  instead 
of  romance — are  fated  to  cross  my  orbit. 
And  this  Mr.  Breyten  is  a  trifle  mysteri 
ous  too,  you  told  me,  I  think.  Couldn't 
you  decoy  him  down  here?  I  dote  upon 
mysteries,  especially  when  they  are  mag 
nificently  tall  and  fair  and  handsome,  and, 
as  you  say  he  is,  good  and  high-minded 

165 


besides.  Where  is  his  home?  He  is  an 
American,  of  course.  Does  he  jump  at 
every  newspaper  he  sees  and  turn  to  the 
market  quotations?  Tell  me  more  about 
him,  Rose.  Since  he  has  my  photograph, 
all  by  your  fault,  you  ought  to  betray  him 
to  me  in  every  possible  way." 

"Indeed,  Angelie,  there's  nothing 
strange  or  mysterious  or  particularly  ro 
mantic  about  Mr.  Breyten,"  said  Rosa- 
lynde.  "He  is  handsome,  strikingly  hand 
some,  with  a  certain  distinguished  air,  and 
he  is  large  in  both  body  and  mind,  al 
though  you  don't  notice  his  height  and 
proportions  until  he  stands  near  you  and 
you  look  up.  Then  he  seems  to  tower 
above  you,  and  he  smiles  down  at  you  as  if 
you  were  such  a  wee  thing  and  very  well 
worth  his  kind  and  tender  attention." 

"Adorable!"  exclaimed  Angelie;  "and, 
of  course,  your  sweet  little  provincial 
1 66 


heart  was  so  full  of  one  Mr.  Alfred  Rayle, 
away  in  Paris,  that  there  was  no  room  for 
this  young  giant,  who,  as  I  well  know, 
fell  desperately  in  love  with  you.  Now, 
honor  bright,  Rosalynde,  didn't  Mr.  Fred 
erick  Breyten  show  strong  symptoms  of 
passionate  regard  for  you?" 

"He  knew  of  my  engagement  to  Al 
fred,"  said  Rosalynde,  as  a  maid  came  out 
upon  the  veranda  with  some  letters  on  a 
tray,  "and  he  was,  of  course,  not  going  to 
be  so  foolish  as  to — oh,  for  me?  Any  for 
me,  Lorette  ?" 

"Mais  oui,  Mam'selle,"  the  maid  an 
swered,  with  a  pretty  French  gesture  of 
affirmation. 

And  it  was  thus  that  Breyten's  perse 
vering  epistle  finally  reached  its  goal, 
after  as  crooked  a  course  and  as  many  de 
lays  as  ever  hindered  a  flight.  Rosalynde 
looked  curiously  at  the  much-erased  and 


often-renewed  superscription,  and  the  nu 
merous  postmarks  on  the  envelope.  Two 
letters  from  Rayle  had  to  wait;  There 
was  a  flash  of  carmine  in  her  cheeks,  deep 
ening  as  she  broke  the  seal. 

"Here's  your  picture,  Angie,"  she  said, 
unable  to  hide  a  breathless  eagerness,  and 
holding  the  photograph  out  at  arm's 
length,  without  looking  from  the  letter. 

"Oh,  it  is  from  your  delightful  friend, 
eh?  Fortunate  girl!"  Angelie  took  the 
photograph,  but  did  not  look  at  it.  "But 
you  read  his  letter  before  you  open  the 
two  from  your  accepted  lover!  Ah,  my 
dearest,  there's  romance  in  all  this.  And 
what  a  letter!  A  whole  volume, — and 
how  excited  you  look !  It  must  be  ravish 
ing." 

Rosalynde  flung  herself  out  of  the  ham 
mock,  and,  speaking  not  a  word,  went  to 
her  room. 

168 


— '  'And  now  what  f  ' '  said  Angelie, 
gazing  after  her  cousin 


"And  now  really  what?"  said  Angelie, 
sitting  up  and  gazing  inquiringly  after 
her  cousin.  But  she  was  left  alone  and 
without  explanation.  "The  child  loves 
him,  adores  him,  that's  evident."  Then 
she  looked  at  the  photograph  in  her  hand. 
On  the  card  was  printed:  "Morri 
sons,  Photographers,  Hawford,  Indiana." 
Quick  as  a  flash  she  understood,  and  was 
laughing  almost  hysterically  when  Mr. 
Freddie  Amsley  was  announced. 

"Say  that  I'm  not  in,  Lorette, — but 
yes,"  she  slipped  lazily  from  the  ham 
mock  to  a  willow  chair,  "tell  him  to  come 
out  here.  No  I'll  not — " 

She  was  stopped  by  the  appearance  of 
Mr.  Freddie  Amsley  himself,  laughing 
and  apologizing. 

"I  know  that  you  are  not  in,"  he  said, 
"but,  hearing  you  so  hilariously  engaged 
out  here,  I  stepped  around.  Now  don't 

169 


scold  me;  be  gentle,  for  I'm  not  happy." 

"You  don't  look  doleful,"  she  observed 
indifferently,  motioning  Lorette  to  hand 
him  a  chair. 

"A  cotton-bale  fell  on  my  toes,"  he 
said,  "and  it  hurt  me." 

"You've  been  losing?" 

"Yes,  a  little  on  January — just  enough 
to  spoil  my  temper." 

"So  you've  come  to  vent  your  ugliness 
upon  me!" 

"Yes,"  he  drawled,  sitting  down ;  "yes, 
you're  always  uppermost  in  my  mind,  for 
weal  or  for  woe." 

He  was  a  slender,  alert-looking  young 
man  with  blue  eyes,  a  high,  hawk-nose, 
blond  side-whiskers,  and  short-cropped 
pale  hair,  which  was  parted  in  the  middle. 
He  looked  at  Angelie  with  a  shrewd,  spec 
ulative  gaze. 

"I  was  jesting,"  he  added.  "I  have  at 
170 


last  made  my  turn.  I  closed  my  deal  this 
morning  sixty  thousand  ahead.  Now 
scold  me.  Gold  laughs  at  anger." 

He  posed  himself  with  clever  ease,  and 
his  countenance  beamed  with  delight, 
while  he  waited  for  her  to  speak.  The 
maid,  Lorette,  glided  away  and  was  heard 
a  moment  later  singing  a  French  ditty  far 
back  in  the  house. 

"I  cannot  confine  my  scolding  to  you," 
said  Angelie,  looking  at  the  photograph ; 
"I  must  include  all  men.  Think  of  it !  one 
who  had  my  picture  has  been  impudent 
enough  to  return  it." 

''Give  me  his  name  and  I'll  call  him 
out,"  said  Amsley.  "He  ought,  by  all  the 
rules  of  compassion,  to  have  sent  it  to  me. 
Who  is  he?" 

"Not  for  the  world  would  I  tell  you ; 
I  cannot  let  you  be  killed  yet  a  while. 
Who  would  take  your  place  as — " 
171 


"As  hopeless  adorer,"  he  interrupted  a 
trifle  bitterly,  despite  his  ready  laugh, 
"and  faithful  friend."  Then  with  sud 
den  passion  he  added :  "You  can't  doubt 
my  love,  Angelie,  and  you  can't  despise  it. 
It  is  too  faithful,  too  true." 

Angelie  held  up  the  photograph,  re 
garding  it  reflectively. 

"It  was  a  curious  little  mistake  and  a 
ludicrous  counter-mistake,"  she  inconse- 
quently  remarked.  "My  photograph  went 
to  him  by  accident,  and  by  accident,  evi 
dently,  he  has  returned  a  copy  of  it." 

Amsley  bit  his  lip ;  but  he  had  the  gam 
bler's  nerve,  and  when  Angelie  looked  at 
him  his  face  was  not  in  the  least  a  mirror 
of  his  inward  feelings.  She  had  held  him 
of!  so  long  that,  hard  as  it  was  to  bear, 
he  was  becoming  used  to  it.  She  was  not 
a  coquette,  but  she  liked  Amsley  without 
loving  him.  He  had  been  good  to  her, 
172 


and  she  did  not  credit  his  passion;  she 
thought  she  could  see  to  the  bottom  of  it. 
At  the  end  of  a  meaningless  and,  to  him, 
exasperating  conversation,  she  sent  him 
away,  as  usual,  bewildered  and  dissatis 
fied,  but  not  hopeless.  He  had  a  sense  of 
humor,  and  he  laughed  and  swore  by 
turns  as  he  walked  down  the  street.  He 
was  thinking  what  a  fool  he  was — a  very 
superior  fool,  to  be  sure ;  and  it  occurred 
to  him  that  he  must  either  let  go  all  hope 
of  Angelie  or  hit  upon  some  plan  of  bring 
ing  her  speedily  to  terms.  Then  he 
laughed  at  the  thought,  for  Angelie  Ban- 
deret  never  accepted  terms,  she  dictated 
them. 


173 


Breyten  and  Rayle  dined  together  in 
New  York  without  comforting  each  other 
to  any  great  depth,  and  separated  upon 
perfunctory  conditions,  not  expecting  or 
especially  desiring  to  meet  again.  Rayle 
made  a  feeble  effort  to  force  Breyten  into 
discussing  the  subject  of  the  money  he  had 
so  mysteriously  received,  a  large  part  of 
which  he  had  brought  back  with  him  from 
Paris ;  but  Breyten  so  cleverly  baffled  him 
that  he  almost  concluded  to  abandon  his 
suspicion  in  that  regard.  Moreover,  hav 
ing  discovered  by  chance  that  Breyten's 
174 


wealth  was  practically  limitless,  he  nat 
urally  began  to  relax  his  anxiety  in  the 
matter,  and  was  willing  enough  to  let  the 
discussion  pass. 

Rayle  had  many  inquiries  to  make 
about  Rosalynde,  all  of  which  Breyten 
answered  unsatisfactorily,  but  yet  fully 
enough  in  a  way.  He  seemed  not  inter 
ested,  Rayle  thought,  and  could  not  read 
ily  understand  just  what  was  expected  of 
him  in  response  to  a  direct  question.  It 
seemed  plain  that  he  had  not  been  par 
ticularly  impressed  by  Miss  Banderet's 
charms,  and  this  gratified  Rayle  while  it 
piqued  him. 

At  the  end  of  an  hour  both  men  felt  the 
need  of  solitude,  or  at  least  of  escape  from 
each  other.  Rayle  had  managed  to  find 
out  that  Rosalynde  was  absent  from  Haw- 
ford  when  Breyten  left  there,  and  that  she 


175 


was  at  Old  Point  Comfort  the  last  he 
heard  of  her. 

"She  may  have  returned  to  Hawford 
by  this  time;  probably  has/'  said  Brey- 
ten. 

This  was  bordering  upon  indirect  pre 
varication,  albeit  he  really  did  not  mean 
it  so. 

"She  wouldn't  stay  away  long,  I  should 
think,"  Rayle  assented  reflectively.  "Any 
way,  I  think  I  shall  go  to  Hawford  first, 
and  if  she's  not  there  I'll  go  where  she  is." 

He  had  been  saying  something  about 
his  great  desire  to  surprise  Rosalynde 
with  the  remarkable  change  in  his  phy 
sique.  The  surgeon,  he  remarked,  had 
found  his  deformity  a  mere  trifle,  not  in 
the  least  difficult  to  remove. 

Breyten  was  mightily  relieved  when  the 
moment  for  separation  came  and  Rayle 
announced  that  he  had  barely  time  to 


reach  his  train.  They  shook  hands,  said 
some  insincere  things  meant  to  be  cor 
dially  friendly,  shook  hands  again,  and 
then  turned  their  backs  upon  each  other, 
Rayle's  brain  luminous  with  anticipa 
tions,  Breyten's  heart  wedged  in  his 
throat. 

Breyten  sat  in  his  room  at  the  Wal 
dorf,  a  man  quite  out  of  employment  and 
unable  to  determine  what  his  next  step 
was  to  be.  Millions  of  dollars  at  his  com 
mand,  the  whole  world  before  him,  op 
portunities  unlimited,  youth,  health,  man 
ly  beauty,  everything  his  save  the  one 
thing  he  desired,  and  that  one  thing  more 
to  him  than  everything  else  in  the  uni 
verse.  He  jumped  to  his  feet  and  shook 
his  fist  at  the  wall  in  sheer  rage  when  he 
thought  how  wonderfully  handsome 
Rayle  was. 


177 


"And  to  think  I  made  him  over,  remod 
eled  him,  completed  him,  all  for  this !" 

Of  course,  such  a  storm  soon  blew  over 
and  left  him  somewhat  relaxed  and 
ashamed.  It  was  not  in  his  nature  to  be 
sour  or  to  harbor  the  devil  long ;  but  now 
he  found  himself,  even  when  the  calm  had 
fallen  upon  him,  trying  to  make  room  for 
certain  questionable  considerations.  He 
got  out  Angelie's  photograph  and  looked 
at  it  as  if  bent  upon  wresting  from  it  the 
excuse  for  some  desperate  act.  He  tried 
to  reconcile  its  serene  and  unsympathetic 
gaze  with  the  sweet  and  immediately 
friendly  look  with  which  Rosalynde  al 
ways  met  him  during  his  long  stay  in  her 
home.  Over  and  over,  as  the  days  passed 
by,  he  had  his  wrestle  with  the  fiend  that 
tried  to  cast  him  over  the  line  of  tempta 
tion  ;  but  he  stubbornly  held  his  own,  half 
suspecting  that  in  the  end  he  would  sue- 


cumb.  It  was  a  hard  struggle ;  yet  all  the 
time  he  was  willing  to  be  worsted  by  de 
grees.  At  last  he  conquered  wholly.  Far 
down  in  some  dim  corner  of  his  soul  cow 
ered  the  shadowy,  albeit  quite  distinguish 
able,  consciousness  of  his  intention  to  go 
back  to  Rosalynde,  despite  Rayle  and  de 
spite  everything.  He  knew  that  his  re 
sistance  was  a  sham,  therefore  he  made  it 
with  all  his  might  and  with  a  stubborn 
ness  not  in  the  least  natural. 

Indeed,  the  thing  might  have  gone  on 
a  long  while  had  not  a  little  letter,  a  mere 
note,  come  to  him  from  Rosalynde  in  re 
ply  to  his  almost  forgotten  epistle.  Noth 
ing  could  have  surprised  him  more  ex 
quisitely  or  more  deeply.  It  was  like  a 
flash  out  of  highest  heaven. 

He  sat  with  the  little  sheet  of  delicate 
scribbling  held  firmly  before  him,  and 
read  it  over  and  over,  trying,  and  at  cer- 
179 


tain  moments  almost  succeeding,  to  draw 
from  it  just  the  least  hint  of  something 
comforting. 

"NEW  ORLEANS,  LA. 
"DEAR  MR.  BREYTEN  :     It  was  good  of 
you  to  return  the  picture  so  promptly.     It 
was  not  mine.     That  was  my  reason  for 
desiring  its  return  at  once.     Your  letter 
reached  me  here  at  my  uncle's,  where  I 
am  to  spend  the  winter.     I  hope  that  this 
will  not  be  delayed  by  numerous  r email- 
ings  f  as  yours  was. 
"Sincerely, 

"ROSALYNDE    BANDERET." 

Of  course,  Breyten  could  not  feel  or 
even  suspect  the  worry  of  spirit  that  the 
writing  of  this  letter  had  brought  to  Rosa- 
lynde.  It  might  have  been  a  sort  of  com 
fort  to  him  could  he  have  known  how  she 
actually  cried  and  lost  a  whole  night's 
sleep,  trying  to  invent  some  form  of  com- 
180 


position  by  which  she  could  write  freely 
to  him,  as  a  sister  to  a  brother,  and  yet 
save  herself  from  every  chance  of  mis 
construction  by  him  and  from  her  own 
conscience  as  well.  She  wrote  a  half- 
score  of  letters,  some  of  them  long,  chatty, 
and  bright,  others  somewhat  sympathetic 
and  full  of  wholesome  suggestions,  while 
a  number  seemed  to  her,  upon  reading 
them  over,  quite  scattering  in  their  nature 
and  almost  without  connected  meaning. 
Why  she  finally  preferred  and  sent  the  one 
we  have  just  read  she  probably  never 
could  have  explained.  When  it  was  gone 
she  would  have  given  almost  anything  to 
withdraw  it. 

Breyten  actually  at  length  succeeded  in 
discovering  in  certain  phrases  of  the  let 
ter  what  he  thought  meant  a  great  deal. 
"She  as  good  as  says,"  he  explained  to 
himself,  "that  if  the  picture  had  belonged 
181 


to  her  she  would  have  let  me  keep  it.  And 
then  why  should  she  particularly  state 
that  she  is  to  he  in  New  Orleans  all  win 
ter,  if  she  did  not  want  me  to  come? 
Moreover,  the  hope  that  her  letter  would 
not  be  delayed  shows  that  she  will  expect 
to  hear  from  me  or  see  me  again." 

Such  reasoning  may  have  a  flimsy  ap 
pearance  to  you  and  me,  occupying  the 
most  judicial  of  attitudes;  but  to  Breyten, 
in  the  confused  mood  so  natural  to  love- 
struck  and  love-baffled  youth,  it  was 
something  to  roll  up  and  down  in  the  im 
agination  with  implicit  confidence  that 
nothing  could  disjoint  its  logic.  He  slept 
over  it  one  long  night,  a  broken,  unrest- 
ful  sleep,  and  next  morning  took  the  train 
for  New  Orleans. 

In  the  meantime  Rayle  had  reached 
Hawford  only  to  find  that  Rosalynde 
would  probably  not  return  to  the  old  home 
182 


at  all,  and  off  he  flew  to  Old  Point  Com 
fort,  where  with  some  difficulty  he  found 
out  whither  the  Banderets  had  gone  from 
there.  He  followed  from  place  to  place, 
on  and  on,  misled  here,  delayed  yonder, 
as  Breyten's  letter  had  been,  his  impa 
tience  increasing  in  proportion  to  the 
square  of  every  distance  traveled,  with 
the  added  increment  of  wasted  days,  de 
layed  trains,  and  wrong  directions  taken 
from  careless  hotel  clerks.  And  so  it  hap 
pened  that  he  finally  reached  New  Or 
leans  in  a  dusty  'and  forlorn  state,  but 
glowing  with  the  enthusiasm  of  the  chase. 
It  was  early  in  the  evening  when  he  ar 
rived,  and  the  streets  were  thronged  with 
sporting  men  come  to  witness  a  great 
prize  fight. 


133 


At  the  Hotel  Royale  Breyten  took  a 
suite  of  rooms  fairly  luxurious  in  their 
appointments,  and  made  himself  believe 
that  happiness  in  some  as  yet  invisible 
form  would  soon  be  his.  He  was  three 
days  in  advance  of  Rayle,  but  he  did 
not  know  this;  in  fact,  he  was  too  much 
busied  with  himself  to  think  about  any 
body  else,  save  Rosalynde. 

Of  her  he  thought  almost  every  mo 
ment.  To-morrow  he  would  call  on  her ; 
yes,  to-morrow.  His  heart  danced.  But 
184 


when  to-morrow  came,  he  faltered  and 
dallied  from  hour  to  hour,  and  did  not  go. 

Two,  three  days  went  by.  The  hotel 
was  overflowing  with  athletic,  self-satis 
fied-looking  men  from  New7  York,  Bos 
ton,  Chicago,  St.  Louis,  Denver,  San 
Francisco,  everywhere.  Sporting  slang 
and  the  terms  of  pugilistic  science  filled 
the  air.  Every  man  was  betting  with  an 
other;  everybody  was  going  to  see  the 
fight.  Breyten,  somewhat  caught  by  the 
prevailing  enthusiasm,  followed  the  crowd 
into  a  vast  rude  amphitheater  and  sat 
down  beside  a  handsome,  dark  man.  It 
was  Rayle.  They  looked  at  each  other 
as  if  about  to  fight,  so  intense  and  con 
centrated  their  gaze.  A  full  ,  minute 
passed  before  either  spoke;  then  Rayle 
laughed  rather  uneasily  and  said : 

"How7  are  you?  I  scarcely  recognized 
you,  not  expecting  to  see  you." 

185 


They  both  looked  guilty,  self-convicted, 
suspicious.  Only  for  a  little  while,  how 
ever,  for  they  quickly  righted  themselves. 

"When  did  you  reach  here?"  Rayle 
presently  inquired. 

"Three  or  four  clays  ago,"  said  Brey- 
ten.  "And  you?" 

"Oh,  I've  just  got  here.  Came  in  on 
the  early  evening  train  from  Mobile." 

Just  then  the  gladiators  strutted  to  the 
ring-center  and  shook  hands;  the  great 
fight  was  about  to  begin.  Breyten  fixed 
his  eyes  upon  the  brawny  figures  now 
dancing  and  sparring  with  a  certain  colos 
sal  grace  and  ease  of  movement,  Rayle 
fidgeted  in  his  seat  and  said, — 

"Hav-e  you  seen  Rosalynde?" 

"What  did  you  say?"  Breyten  demand 
ed,  without  turning  his  face. 

"Have  you  seen  Rosalynde?" 

"No,"  almost  gruffly. 
186 


An  exchange  of  blows  in  the  ring 
brought  from  the  crowd  a  wild  roar  of 
cheers.  Breyten  felt  like  hitting  Rayle 
straight  from  the  shoulder  for  speaking 
that  dear  name  in  such  a  place.  He  felt 
as  if  Rosalyndc  herself  were  aware  of 
his  own  participation  in  the  brutal  affair 
going  on  down  yonder  in  the  little  in- 
closure. 

"Then  you  don't  know  whether  she's 
here  or  not?"  Rayle  went  on. 

"No." 

Breyten  got  up  from  his  seat  and 
stalked  out  of  the  amphitheater,  his  face 
quite  pale.  He  paid  no  attention  to  a  big, 
red-faced  fellow  beside  the  aisle  when,  in 
a  tone  of  good-natured  jeering,  he  called  : 
"Hey,  there !  I  say,  mister,  does  them 
bloody  jabs  onsettle  yer  stomach?" 

Rayle  made  a  motion  as  if  to  follow 
Breyten,  but  arrested  it  at  once  and  re- 


mained  in  his  seat  until  the  fight  ended 
with  what  a  flashily  dressed  man  near  him 
called  a  "right-hand  swing  on  the  jaw" ; 
then  he  went  back  to  his  hotel,  feeling 
that  he  had  received  poor  recompense  for 
a  considerable  loss  of  self-respect. 

He  felt  his  soul  hang  its  head  for 
shame,  and  he  could  not  account  for  the 
fact  that  he  had  gone  to  a  prize  fight  in 
stead  of  making  his  way  immediately  to 
Rosalynde. 

Early  next  morning  Rayle  was  awake 
and  thinking  of  Breyten.  An  impression 
very  unpleasant  to  realize  was  taking 
shape  in  his  mind.  "What  was  Breyten 
here  for?  Why  had  he  behaved  so 
strangely  last  night?  Somehow  Rosa 
lynde  came  into  the  problem,  and  a  pang 
shot  along  with  the  thought  of  how  fool 
ishly  he  had  acted  in  not  confiding  to  her 
everything  connected  with  his  experience 
1 88 


at  the  hospital  in  Paris.  He  now  saw 
that  in  his  haste  to  rush  home  and  sur 
prise  Rosalynde  he  had  so  disarranged 
their  correspondence  that  it  might  have 
appeared  to  her  that  he  was  neglecting 
her.  And  her  wanderings,  moreover,  had 
doubtless  added  to  the  difficulty,  for  all 
his  letters  had  been  directed  to  her  at 
Haw  ford.  She  might  not  now  be  in  New 
Orleans. 

He  had  no  mind  to  delay,  however, 
and  at  the  earliest  permissible  moment 
for  a  call  he  went  to  Dr.  Banderet's  man 
sion  and  asked  to  see  Miss  Banderet.  The 
servant  admitted  him  and  went  away  with 
his  card,  while  he  stood  in  the  twilight 
gloom  of  the  ample  drawing-room  with 
black  crow-foot  furniture  carelessly 
ranged  around,  and  dusky  pictures  peer 
ing  at  him  from  the  walls.  It  made  him 
think  of  art  and  his  abandoned  ambi- 
189 


tion,  and  then  he  wondered  what  Rosa- 
lynde  would  say  to  the  course  he  had  pur 
sued.  And  what  would  she  think  of  the 
wonderful  betterment  of  his  personal  ap 
pearance  ? 

Suddenly  it  occurred  to  him  that  possi 
bly,  after  all,  she  might  not  care  for  a 
changed  and  physically  rectified  Alfred 
Rayle.  She  had  loved  the  cripple,  she  had 
promised  to  be  the  wife  of  a  maimed  art 
ist;  but  would  she  love  and  wed  the 
straight  man  who  had  repudiated  the 
painter's  dream  and  acknowledged  him 
self  no  genius?  Strange  that  he  had  not 
thought  of  this  before !  It  now  seemed 
an  immensely  formidable  question. 

After  all,  the  straightening  of  his  leg 
had  not  made  him  strong  enough  to  stand 
firmly,  for  he  was  trembling  violently 
from  head  to  foot.  Then  he  heard  a 
light,  quick  step  approaching  the  door. 
190 


There  was  a  magic  in  the  delicate  pat- 
pat-pat  upon  the  deep-piled  carpet.  His 
heart  gave  a  leap ;  a  warm  glow  ran  along 
his  veins.  In  that  second  he  forgot  the 
false  note  lately  sounded  in  the  song  of  his 
life.  For,  lightly  tripping  through  the 
doorway,  came  a  tall,  lissome  form,  the 
radiant  face  smiling  out  of  the  twilight 
gloom  of  the  place.  He  sprang  to  her 
and  caught  her  firmly  in  his  arms. 

"Rosalynde !  Rosalynde !"  he  cried  in 
a  voice  softly  vibrant  with  intense  feeling. 

He  kissed  her  many  times  before  she 
could  find  breath  to  say — 

"Please  don't — I'm  not  Rosalynde — let 
me  go  sir,  will  you !" 

It  was  Angelie;  but  he  could  not  un 
derstand  ;  he  thought  Rosalynde  was  but 
playing  and  pretending;  so  he  kissed  her 
again  and  again,  holding  her  fast.  He 
was  too  much  borne  away  on  the  mo- 
191 


ment's  impulse  to  notice  the  French  tim 
bre  in  her  voice,  nor  did  he  stop  to  reflect 
that  Rosalynde  could  not  possibly  fight  so 
atrociously  and  cruelly. 

"This  is  outrageous,  sir!"  she  said,  her 
voice  quivering.  "Leave  the  house  this 
minute!"  She  stamped  her  foot  with  en 
ergy,  and  pointed  towards  the  door  with 
her  gleaming  hand. 

Rayle's  head  swam,  but  he  made  a 
great  effort  to  understand  the  situation. 
There  may  have  been  a  vague  impression 
in  his  mind  that  he  had  made  some  sort  of 
ugly  mistake. 

"Rosalynde,"  he  said,  "what — what — " 

"Oh,  but  no,  I  am  not  Rosalynde,"  An- 
gelie  interrupted.  "You  know  that  I  am 
not.  Can't  you  see?" 

He  was,  indeed,  trying  hard  to  see,  and 
the  more  he  tried  the  plainer  he  saw  Rosa 
lynde  before  him.  How  beautiful  she  was, 
192 


too !  His  memory  and  imagination  doubt 
less  played  him  unfair  tricks,  for  the  light 
was  not  strong  enough  to  bring  out  her 
features  distinctly.  He  stood  mute  while 
she  went  and  drew  the  curtain  of  a  win 
dow  and  flung  open  the  blind.  Her  face 
was  glowing  when  she  turned  towards 
him  again,  and  the  radiance  made  its 
beauty  shimmer  indescribably. 

She  gave  him  a  look  evidently  not 
meant  to  be  friendly,  a  look  which 
changed  almost  instantly,  and  then  a  pal 
lor  superseded  the  blush  in  her  cheeks. 

Rayle,  not  yet  rid  of  the  impression 
that  it  was  Rosalynde  he  saw,  gazed  at 
her  askance  and  abashed,  his  mind  in  a 
whirl. 

The  French  in  Angelie's  blood  leaped 
.quickly  to  her  aid  at  that  moment.  She 
laughed  and  held  out  her  hand. 

"I  am  Angelie,"  she  said,  "Rosa- 
193 


lynde's  cousin.  You  are  Mr.  Rayle,  and 
you've  made  yourself  ridiculous;  but  I 
forgive  you.  A  man  never  fails  to  be  dis 
agreeable  just  when  he  means  to  be  en 
tertaining." 

She  laughed  again  when  he  took  her 
hand  and  bent  a  mystified  pair  of  dark 
eyes  upon  her. 

"You  came  to  see  Rosalynde,  but  she  is 
away  with  my  father  on  Bayou  Teche. 
I  understand  it  all  now.  It  was  rather 
sudden,  however,  and  quite  unexpected." 
She  was  speaking  rapidly  and  with  a 
charming  air  of  reconciliation.  "If  you 
are  sure  that  you  have  yourself  well  un 
der  control/'  she  added,  "you  may  sit 
down.  Rosalynde  has  told  me  about  you. 
She  will  return  next  week." 

Rayle  began  to  look  stupidly  enlight 
ened,  and  was  smiling  rather  drily. 


194 


-' '/  am  Angelie, ' '  she  said,  '  'and yon 
are  Mr.  Rayle  and  have  made  Wl^l 

yourself  ridiculous" 

, 


y  ride's 


"When  did  you  arrive  in  New  Or 
leans  ?"  said  Angelie. 

"Yesterday  evening." 

"Why  didn't  you  let  Rosalynde  know 
that  you  were  coming  ?  She  went  away 
this  morning,  not  more  than  an  hour  ago. 
It's  too  bad." 

"Where  did  you  say  she  is  gone?" 

"Oh,  it's  indefinite.  Father  took  her 
with  him  into  the  Teche  country.  He  has 
a  roving  business  trip  of  some  sort." 

"I  couldn't  overtake  them,  then?" 

"Most  likely  not,"  she  said,  and  some 
thing  in  her  voice  searched  his  heart;  it 
was  like  a  haunting  bird-note  in  dreamy 
weather.  "It  would  be  a  tiresome  and 
hopeless  chase." 

"It  will  be  tiresome  to  wait,"  he  said. 

"You  have  waited  many  months;  you 
can  wait  a  week  longer." 

He  looked  at  her  sitting  there  by  the 
195 


open  window,  while  the  light  through 
flickering  orange  foliage  played  upon  her 
sweet  face  and  softly  rounded  form,  and 
something  in  him  stirred  tenderly,  send 
ing  along  his  veins  a  glow  of  delight. 

When  he  arose  to  go,  Angelie's  eyes 
measured  his  handsome  figure ;  then,  with 
a  pretty,  reminiscent  start,  she  suddenly 
said : 

"But  Rosalynde  said  that  you  were 
lame.  You  are  not,  are  you?" 

"I  was,  but  I  am  not,"  he  said,  looking 
at  himself.  "My  trouble  was  as  nothing 
in  the  hands  of  a  good  surgeon." 

"How  delightful !"  she  exclaimed,  with 
her  hands  clasped  before  her.  "I  am  glad 
for  you." 

"You  will  come  every  day,"  she  added. 
"It  may  shorten  your  period  of  waiting  if 
I  prattle  to  you." 

He  was  moving  towards  the  door  when 

196 


the  strains  of  a  violin  exquisitely  played 
came  from  a  remote  part  of  the  house,  and 
he  involuntarily  paused. 

"It  is  mamma,"  Angelie  said,  coming 
near  him.  "She  is  a  wonderful  artiste: 
nobody  can  play  as  she  does.  When  you 
come  again  she  shall  play  for  you.  Why 
not  this  evening  ?  You'll  be  lonely.  Will 
you  ?" 

Rayle  said  that  he  would,  and  as  he 
walked  back  to  the  hotel,  somehow  he  felt 
that  lately  the  tune  of  his  life  had  been 
breaking  upon  false  notes. 


197 


In  the  morning  following  his  peep  at 
the  prize  fight  Breyten  was  up  early  with 
the  purpose  well  in  mind  to  call  upon 
Rosalynde.  Not  another  delay  was  to  be 
thought  of.  Assuring  himself  of  this,  he 
cast  off  a  load  of  trouble  with  somewhat 
his  old-time  ease ;  but  in  the  reading-room 
of  the  hotel  he  picked  up  a  morning  paper, 
yet  damp  from  the  press,  and  almost  the 
first  paragraph  was  quite  in  the  line  of  his 
thoughts.  It  stated  that  Dr.  Banderet, 
accompanied  by  his  niece,  Miss  Rosalynde, 
of  Indiana,  had  gone  to  Bayou  Teche  for 
198 


a  week.  A  week!  A  year  would  not 
have  been  more  unsatisfactory.  He  read 
the  paragraph  over  two  or  three  times, 
then  crumpled  the  paper,  flung  it  on  a 
table,  and  went  to  the  clerk's  desk  to  in 
quire  how  he  could  go  to  Bayou  Teche 
by  the  shortest  and  quickest  route. 

He  would  have  but  two  hours  and  ten 
minutes  to  wait  for  a  train,  a  fast  flyer, 
going  to  "the  Teche/'  as  the  clerk  called 
it.  He  would  reach  New  Iberia,  a  quaint 
old  town  in  that  region,  sometime  in  the 
afternoon.  The  Teche  was  a  long  bayou 
with  plenty  of  steamboats  on  it.  Many 
tourists  flocked  there  and  had  no  end  of  a 
good  time,  the  clerk  volunteered  to  ex 
plain. 

Breyten  broke  off  from  him  to  look 

for  a  railway  guide  and  snatch  a  hasty 

breakfast.     The    excitement    of    pursuit 

was  already  tingling  through  him.     He 

199 


made  his  few  necessary  preparations  with 
nervous  haste,  his  fine  face  all  aglow. 
He  looked  like  a  big  boy  making  frantic 
efforts  to  get  ready  for  a  holiday,  and  he 
was  at  the  station  half  an  hour  before  time 
for  the  train  to  leave. 

An  excursion  to  Texas,  in  the  interests 
of  an  agricultural  emigration  company, 
had  attracted  a  rather  motley  throng,  in 
the  midst  of  which  Breyten  stalked  about 
restlessly  until  his  train  drew  up ;  then, 
after  being  jostled  and  delayed  at  the 
door,  he  went  into  the  rearmost  parlor- 
car.  The  first  face  he  saw  struck  him 
\vith  such  surprise  that  he  came  near  cry 
ing  out. 

Rosalynde  was  looking  out  of  a  win 
dow,  and  did  not  see  Breyten  as  he  passed, 
though  he  hesitated  a  moment  by  the  arm 
of  her  seat.  Dr.  Banderet,  coming  up 
just  then,  politely  elbowed  him  away  and 
200 


sat  down  beside  his  grand-niece,  with  a 
gold-headed  cane  between  his  knees. 

Breyten's  seat  was  some  distance  far 
ther  back.  He  flung  himself  into  it  with 
the  limp  look  of  a  very  tired  man.  He 
could  not  see  Rosalynde's  face,  but  a  curve 
of  her  cheek  showed  under  her  simple 
traveling-hat,  and  the  dusky  gleam  of  her 
hair  was  just  as  it  used  to  be  when  she  sat 
reading  to  him  in  the  old  home  in  Haw- 
ford. 

The  train  soon  freed  itself  from  the 
hindrances  of  the  city  and  leaped  forth 
into  the  strange  moss-hung  forests  and 
over  the  plashy  swamps  and  marshes. 

After  a  while  Dr.  Banderet  went  to  the 
smoking-apartment,  leaving  Rosalynde 
alone  in  her  seat.  Breyten  gave  himself 
no  time  for  a  change  of  purpose,  but 
rather  precipitately  carried  it  out.  Rosa 
lynde  looked  up  and  saw  him  bending 

201 


over  her.  She  started;  her  face  flushed, 
then  turned  pale.  She  had  been  thinking 
of  him  when  his  voice  startled  her.  He 
was  speaking  when  she  lifted  her  eyes  to 
him. 

"Rdsalynde,"  he  said,  with  a  fine,  at 
tractive  smile,  "didn't  you  know  that  you 
couldn't  get  away  from  me  ?  Here  I  am." 

"You  surprised  me,"  she  said,  making 
room  for  him  by  removing  Dr.  Banderet's 
cane  from  where  he  had  left  it  leaning 
against  the  seat  beside  her;  "but  I  am 
glad  to  see  you.  \Yhere  are  you  going?" 

"\Yherever  you  go,"  he  answered 
gravely.  "You  shall  never  get  out  of  my 
sight  again  if  I  can  prevent  it — never." 

Suddenly  all  his  great  masculine  force 
had  returned  to  him :  he  felt  that  he  could 
spin  the  world  like  a  top.  He  was  a  sav 
age,  ready  to  seize  the  beautiful,  half- 
shrinking  maiden  and  rush  away  with  her 
202 


to  his  lair  in  some  impregnable  cave.  He 
must  have  given  her  a  powerful  shock,  for 
at  the  side  of  her  throat  the  ivory-white 
skin  was  palpitating  to  the  current  from 
her  heart.  They  sat  for  a  space  in  silence. 
Presently  he  said : 

"Rosalynde,  it's  useless  to  hesitate  or 
deny.  I  love  you  and  you  love  me;  you 
know  it  and  I  know  it,  and  no  power  can 
change  it  or  hinder  it." 

He  spoke  in  a  subdued  voice,  but  every 
word  struck  her  ear  with  an  electrical 
power,  and  it  seemed  to  her  that  the 
sounds,  so  thrilling  to  her,  would  surely 
startle  all  the  people  in  the  car.  Under 
the  beautiful  pallor  of  her  cheeks  a  fine 
peach-petal  flush  was  barely  visible;  her 
lips  were  like  gerardias.  As  for  him,  he 
was  indifferent  to  what  the  people  in  the 
car  saw,  heard,  or  thought.  She  under- 

203 


stood  this  and  felt  the  need  of  coolness 
and  tact. 

"Don't,  please,"  she  said  at  first  in  a 
frightened  half -whisper.  Then  with  a 
great  effort  she  laughed  and  added :  "But 
tell  me  where  you've  been  and  what 
you've  seen." 

"I've  been  nowhere,  have  seen  nothing, 
and  have  thought  only  of  you  all  the 
time." 

"But  a  person  who  goes  nowhere  and 
sees  nothing  must  be  very  stupid  and  un 
interesting,"  she  said,  with  a  poor  little 
breaking  voice,  which  she  was  trying  to 
make  ring  out  freely  and  lightly  in  proof 
of  a  jocund  mood. 

"It's  no  use,  Rosalynde,"  he  said ;  "you 
feel  it  and  might  as  well  acknowledge  it. 
Love  is  master." 

Suddenly  she  bridled  breathlessly.  "You 

204 


shall  not  say  this  to  me,"  she  exclaimed. 
"I  will  not  listen.     You  forget;  you— 

Dr.  Banderet  appeared  to  claim  his 
seat,  or  rather  to  stand  mute  with  a  bland 
interrogative  expression  on  his  aristo 
cratic  face.  Rosalynde  did  the  first  thing 
she  thought  of,  the  moment  being  a  cru 
cial  one.  She  introduced  Frederick  Brey- 
ten  to  her  great-uncle.  Breyten  arose, 
and  the  two  men,  bobbing  and  staggering 
to  the  car's  motion,  shook  hands. 

"Keep  the  seat,  sir,  keep  the  seat,"  Dr. 
Banderet  insisted.  "I  will  sit  facing  you, 
here.  I  like  riding  backward  for  a 
change." 

The  arrangement  comforted  Rosalynde, 
and  she  enjoyed  hearing  Breyten,  in  an 
swer  to  inquiries  from  her  uncle,  tell  a 
good  deal  about  the  Breytens  of  Virginia, 
an  historic  family  well  known  to  Dr. 
Banderet. 

205 


Dr.  Banderet  was  a  voluble  talker,  with 
much  that  was  interesting  to  talk  about, 
and  he  gave  Breyten  little  opportunity  to 
speak  to  Rosalynde. 

"I  am  very  glad  that  you  have  no  defi 
nite  plan  for  seeing  the  Teche  region," 
he  went  on  to  say.  "I  shall  claim  the 
pleasure  of  showing  it  to  you.  You  will 
go  with  us  ?  I  have  a  little  business,  but 
my  niece  and  you  will  doubtless  be  able 
to  entertain  each  other,  being  old 
friends." 

Breyten  was  delighted,  but  Rosalynde 
looked  frightened  and  seemed  on  the 
point  of  raising  strenuous  objection,  al 
though,  in  fact,  her  tongue  was  refrac 
tory;  she  could  not  have  spoken  a  word 
had  life  depended  upon  it. 

The  train  swept  on,  and  as  the  miles 
slipped  behind,  it  seemed  to  Rosalynde 


206 


that  she  was  leaving  forever  all  that  had 
once  been  life  to  her  and  flying  into  some 
unknown  region  enmisted  with  doubt  and 
haunted  by  a  formless,  tender  dread. 


207 


It  would  be  interesting  to  observe 
Rayle's  proceedings  during  the  time — it 
turned  out  to  be  twelve  days  instead  of  a 
week — that  Dr.  Banderet  and  Rosalynde 
were  absent. 

He  called  upon  Angelie  every  day,  and 
found  her  a  most  bewitching  young 
woman,  who  held  up  before  him  a  kaleido 
scope  of  dazzling  fascinations. 

He  recognized  her  extreme  difference 

from    Rosalynde   at   the   very   moments 

when  he  was  most  impressed  with  the 

twin-like  resemblance  between  them.  Per- 

208 


haps  this  confused  him,  or  was  it  the 
weather  ?  For  never  had  his  eyes  looked 
through  such  soft  splendor  of  sunlight  by 
day  and  moonlight  by  night. 

Of  course  he  got  acquainted  with  Mr. 
Freddie  Amsley — very  well  acquainted  in 
deed — almost  at  once.  Amsley  sniffed 
game  in  this  sturdy,  frank,  confiding 
youth  from  Indiana,  who  seemed  to  have 
money,  and  introduced  him  to  some  good 
fellows  at  his  club.  Rayle  found  his  new 
friends  delightful  and  prosperous  young 
men,  who  lived  at  a  pace  that  made  him 
dizzy ;  they  fascinated  him  so  that  his  im 
agination  clothed  them  as  princes  of 
finance,  and  before  he  could  adjust  his 
judgment  to  surroundings  so  engaging, 
they  had  deftly,  and  with  jocund  show  of 
splendid  good-fellowship,  relieved  him 
of  every  cent  of  his  money.  Then  he 
realized  that  Freddie  Amsley  was  no  an- 
209 


gel  of  good  fortune,  but  rather  a  sleek 
little  demon,  swift  and  sure  in  his  work. 

What  help  was  there  for  him  ?  He  sat 
down  quite  limp  in  his  room  at  the  hotel 
and  looked  aghast  into  the  depths  of  his 
despair.  Fortunately,  he  had  paid  his  bill 
for  a  fortnight  in  advance,  a  mere  acci 
dent  growing  out  of  making  change.  But 
what  was  before  him?  He  had  nothing 
to  depend  upon  save  the  pittance  of  in 
come  from  his  estate  in  Haw  ford. 

With  the  thought  of  how  his  weakness 
and  folly  would  affect  Rosalynde  came  to 
Rayle's  mind  the  temptation  to  seek  Brey- 
ten  and  ask  him  for  advice,  if  not  for  help 
in  a  more  solid  form.  He  slept,  or  rather 
tumbled  all  night  in  bed,  over  the  sugges 
tion,  and  during  the  following  forenoon 
went  to  the  Hotel  Royale,  only  to  find  that 
Breyten  had  gone  west  eight  days  ago. 
The  obliging  day-clerk  further  informed 
210 


him  that  the  gentleman  would  "be  back 
in  a  few  days." 

"Where  has  he  gone?"  Rayle  demand 
ed,  a  sudden  suspicion  opening  darkly  in 
his  brain. 

The  clerk  thought  a  moment,  then 
shook  his  head. 

"I'm  not  sure;  he  didn't  leave  any  or 
ders  about  his  mail.  Seems  to  me, 
though,  that  he  inquired  about  the  Teche. 
Yes,  I  know  he  did;  seemed  to  be  in  a 
hurry;  left  on  the  morning  train." 

Rayle  pressed  his  teeth  together  and 
stood  thinking.  His  first  impulse  was  to 
follow  in  Breyten's  tracks,  but  upon  re 
flection  his  penniless  condition  forbade  the 
venture.  He  went  out  and  walked  aim 
lessly  for  a  while,  then  returned  to  his  ho 
tel  and  shut  himself  in  his  room.  Pres 
ently  he  recollected  that  he  had  promised 


211 


to  dine  with  Mrs.  Banderet  and  her 
daughter. 

Here  our  record  must  rely  upon  the 
meager  facts  in  the  following  letter  writ 
ten  by  Angelie  to  Rosalynde,  who  re 
ceived  it  at  New  Iberia  after  her  return 
there  from  a  memorable  voyage  on  the 
beautiful  waters  of  Bayou  Teche : 

"DEAREST  ROSE:  /  hope  this  letter 
will  not  fail  to  reach  you;  and  oh,  I'm  so 
glad  that  I  did  not  feel  in  the  humor  to 
go  ivith  you  and  papa,  for  I've  been  hav 
ing  such  exciting  experiences.  How  shall 
I  tell  you?  It's  like  a  novel.  The  very 
handsomest  and  most  interesting  young 
man  that  I  ever  saiv  has  been  coming  to 
see  me  every  day  since  your  departure. 
He's  dark  and  has  features  so  nobly  cut 
and  so  finely  intelligent  that  it's  a  delight 
to  look  at  him.  He's  a  charming  talker 
too;  has  just  returned  from  Paris,  where 

212 


he  had  no  end  of  adventures.  But,  dear, 
he  has  no  more  actual  knowledge  of  the 
zvorld  than  a  boy  of  fifteen,  though  his 
opinion  of  himself  is  pretty  extensive,  as 
is  the  case  zvith  all  men,  you  know.  Still, 
that  makes  him  delightful, — his  want  of 
worldly  wisdom,  I  mean, — and  he  is  so 
entertaining  and  so  western;  he's  from 
Indiana  too!  He  knczv  Uncle  Lucien, 
and  is  acquainted  zvith  Mr.  Frederick 
Breyten!  Mamma  and  I  have  laid  our 
selves  out  to  be  agreeable  to  him,  as  much 
on  your  friend's  account  as  anything  else, 
for  he  is  now  zvaiting  for  Mr.  Breyten  to 
return;  seems  to  be  rather  impatient  to  see 
him.  I  really  think  there  is  something 
mysterious  about  his  coming  here,  some 
thing  romantic  rather,  and  I  am  so  inter 
ested.  Pie  has  great,  big,  dark,  soft  eyes, 
— a  poet's  eyes, — and  such  a  voice!  He 
sings  to  mamma's  accompaniments  with 
213 


perfectly  divine  richness  and  power,  in  a 
heavy  tenor  that  I  never  heard  the  equal 
of  anywhere.  Freddie  has  called.  I'll 
finish  this  after  I've  sent  him  away. 

"Freddie  stayed  but  a  little  while,  and 
he  was  disagreeable;  he  said  some  things 
about  my  new  friend  that  made  me  angry, 
and  I  sent  him  off  straightway.  It  was 
something  that  happened  at  the  club,  and 
he  spoke  of  my  friend  as  a  'chump,'  what 
ever  that  is.  I  am  beginning  to  suspect 
Fred  Amsley  of  doing  downright  mean 
things.  He  even  hinted  that  my  friend 
is  lacking  in  good  common  sense,  and  in 
timated  tJiat  he  had  shown  himself  a  very 
easy  victim  to  his  own  foolish  egotism. 
I  did  not  quite  understand,  but  Fred's 
manner  was  disagreeable,  and  we  parted 
angry, — at  least  I  w*as.  Another  caller; 
it's  my  new  friend. 

"Oh,  but  now  I  have  something  to  tell 
214 


you!  My  handsome  friend  from  Indiana 
has  just  gone,  after  the  strangest  inter 
view  I  ever  had  with  any  person  in  all 
my  life.  I'm  all  nervous,  and  I  do  not 
know  how  to  tell  you  what  I  have  been 
experiencing.  It  is  so  unusual,  so  ro 
mantic,  so  pathetic,  and  so, — /  almost  said 
funny,  but  it  isn't  that.  Pie  has  lost  every 
cent  of  his  money  and  doesn't  know  what 
to  do.  It  was  Fred  Arnsley  that  caused 
it:  he  was  the  little  villain.  My  sus 
picions  were  correct :  he  cunningly  led  my 
friend  into  a  gambling  scheme  of  some 
sort,  and  he  was  robbed.  I  will  never 
speak  to  Fred  Amsley  again.  I  didn't 
know  that  he  was  a  gambler. 

"But  I  will  tell  you  everything  when 
you  come  home.  It's  quite  impossible  to 
put  the  whole  thing  in  a  little  letter. 
Mamma  and  I  have  been  talking  it  over. 
We  feel  that  it  is  our  duty  to  do  some- 
215 


thing,  but  what?  Isn't  it  picturesque? 
Think  of  me  with  a  penniless  and  despair 
ing  stranger  on  my  hands,  and  he  as  hand 
some  as  Apollo  and  as  interesting  as  a 
hero  in  a  novel! 

"A  thousand  kisses  from  your  devoted 
cousin  ANGELIE." 

The  reader  will  understand  that  An- 
gelie  had  a  double  reason  for  not  men 
tioning  Rayle's  name  in  her  letter.  In 
the  first  place,  he  had  told  her  that  he 
wished  to  surprise  Rosalynde,  and  then 
she  liked  the  spice  of  mystery  that  she  was 
able  to  throw  into  her  account ;  it  gratified 
her  taste  for  romance.  Moreover,  she 
vaguely  felt  that  in  some  \vay  it  was  better 
to  let  Rayle  explain,  if  he  wished,  the  cir 
cumstances  by  which  he  had  been  in 
fluenced,  although  she  really  did  not 
clearly  comprehend  her  own  motive  in  the 
matter.  Rayle  fascinated  her  more  than 
216 


she  realized,  and  her  sympathy  took  deep 
hold  in  considering  his  unfortunate  folly 
and  the  heartless  conduct  of  Amsley. 

Angelie  was  peculiarly  wrought  upon 
by  a  consideration  of  Rayle's  trouble.  It 
seemed  to  her  monstrous  that  a  man  so 
very  handsome,  so  charming  as  a  talker, 
so  gifted  as  a  singer,  and  withal  so  evi 
dently  free  from  the  real  vices  of  man 
hood,  should  have  fallen  into  a  vulgar 
error  inducing  such  keen  and  humiliating 
distress.  From  what  Rayle  had  told  her 
she  imagined  that  Breyten  was  his  only 
hope ;  and  the  thought  of  Breyten  brought 
to  mind  the  great  probability,  almost  cer 
tainty,  that  he  had  gone  in  pursuit  of 
Rosalynde.  Then  she  smiled  and  won 
dered  if  Rosalynde  would  be  glad  to  see 
him.  She  felt  some  sort  of  comfort  in 
the  suggestion  that  Breyten  might  be  able 
to  win  her  away  from  Rayle,  being  a  bold 
217 


and  audacious  lover,  evidently  not  to  be 
set  aside  with  a  mere  wave  of  the  hand. 
It  was  a  romantic  subject  for  her  imagina 
tion  to  play  with,  at  all  events. 


2218 


Cl>&<p  I  e  r  J7\vei\ty 

Bayou  Teche  doubtless  has  had  many  a 
romance  upon  its  slow,  languid  water,  and 
in  the  picturesque  houses  that  peep  forth 
from  the  groves  and  gardens  along  its 
banks,  but  the  flower  of  them  all — the 
poem  of  them  all,  it  would  be  better  to  say 
— was  that  which  Breyten  and  Rosalynde 
made  for  themselves  while  on  board  a  little 
steamboat,  a  lazy  but  tireless  craft  run 
ning  far  up  the  great  lagoon  and  touch 
ing  with  its  enterprising  nose  every  land 
ing  on  either  shore. 

Dr.  Banderet,  having  lived  most  of  his 
219 


life  in  the  South,  had  the  Southerner's 
quick  sense  of  what  is  due  to  a  gentleman 
who  falls  in  the  way  of  one's  hospitality 
or  seems  a  good  target  for  one's  generosi 
ties  of  any  sort.  He  knew  Breyten's 
family,  had  known  his  father,  and  now, 
well  impressed  with  the  young  man  him 
self,  he  set  no  limit  to  kindness  and  court 
esy.  His  business  at  New  Iberia  had  to 
be  postponed  for  a  few  days,  and  as  time 
was  heavy  he  bethought  him  of  the  voy 
age  up  the  Teche — it  would  be  a  revela 
tion  to  Rosalynde,  and  perhaps  not  unat 
tractive  to  Breyten.  So  it  was  arranged ; 
a  little  steamer  came  just  at  the  nick  of 
time ;  to  reach  it  was  no  great  trouble. 

The  old  doctor  was  in  high  spirits; 
Breyten  had  charmed  him;  for  Breyten 
was  a  good  listener,  the  doctor  an  enthu 
siastic  raconteur,  and  what  more  was 
needed  ? 

220 


The  only  drawback  was  that  Brey ten's 
mind  wandered  from  the  entertainment 
so  generously  expended  upon  him  to 
Rosalynde,  sitting  by  the  vessel's  rail  a  lit 
tle  distance  farther  forward.  He  wanted 
to  join  her ;  as  yet  he  had  not  been  able  to 
converse  with  her  alone,  and  his  heart  was 
impatient,  his  ears  longed  for  her  voice, 
his  eyes  could  not  be  kept  from  gazing  at 
her  profile  while  she  looked  away  over 
the  smooth  water. 

Breyten,  after  the  most  diligent  impa 
tience,  finally  worked  himself  clear  of  Dr. 
Banderet's  control,  and  turned  his  chair 
so  as  to  face  Rosalynde. 

"Now,"  he  said,  with  the  air  of  one  who 
dares  fate,  "we  will  give  any  intruder  a 
cold  stare  of  repulse.  I  am  in  no  humor 
for  interruptions." 

"It  is  a  beautiful  panorama,"  she  said, 
"a  sort  of  dream-shadow  and  dream-sheen 
221 


vision.  I  was  here  once  before,  long, 
long  ago,  when  I  was  a  little  child.  It  is 
just  the  same,  so  far  as  I  can  see,  not  a 
trace  of  change.  I  remember  those  long- 
necked,  slow-winged  birds."  She  pointed 
towards  some  herons,  laboring  through 
the  drowsy  air.  "I  have  dreamed  of  these 
dusky  shore-groves  and  those  \vide  fields 
of  cane  yonder  hundreds  of  times.  They 
made  a  great  impression  upon  my  childish 
mind,  and  I  have  always  desired  to  come 
and  see  them  again." 

"But  you  never  dreamed  that  I  was  to 
be  with  you,  did  you  ?" 

"No,"  she  said  with  a  little  laugh. 

"Well,  I  was  to  be,  and  here  I  am. 
You  do  not  seem  surprised ;  you  do  not 
object." 

"Why  should  I?" 

"You  shouldn't;  it's  in  accord  with  di 
vinely  ordered  destiny." 
222 


— "  Now,"  he  said,  "  ze/£  will  give  any 
intruder  a  cold  stare  of  repulse" 


"How  do  you  know  that?" 

"How  do  I  know  that  I  am  here,  and 
that  you  are  here?  Do  you  believe  that 
two  people  like  you  and  me  are  mere  play 
things  of  chance?  Or  do  you  imagine 
that  God  crossed  the  lines  of  our  lives  that 
He  might  tantalize  us?  What  are  we 
here  for  ?  Why  did  I  find  you  under  the 
bridge  when  the  storm  made  day  like  mid 
night?" 

"I  don't  know,"  she  faltered ;  then  ad 
ded  with  a  firmer  tone:  "People  have  to 
meet.  The  highways  are  for  all." 

"True;  but  our  meeting  opened  a  new 
life  to  both  of  us;  you  know  it.  Look 
back  beyond  that  meeting.  Is  life  back 
there  what  it  is  on  this  side?  We  have 
blended  souls,  we  have  enlarged  each 
other's  vision,  broadened  each  other's  ca 
pacity  to  enjoy,  to  comprehend,  to  aspire. 
I  did  not  know  life  until  you  opened  its 
223 


gate;  before  that  I  was  but  a  joy-dreamer, 
with  the  Greek  poets  for  my  cup-fillers 
and  physical  nature  for  my  guide.  Now 
I  feel  something  better,  purer,  stronger. 
I  love,  and  I  feel  the  imperious  right  to 
be  loved." 

Rosalynde  had  been  struggling  with  a 
sense  of  duty  during  this  impassioned 
speech,  which  she  felt  overwhelming  her 
and  lifting  tears  towards  her  eyes.  She 
knew  that  she  must  cast  off  with  a  firm 
hand  what,  in  spite  of  all  she  could  do, 
seemed  \o  fill  a  thousand  dry  and  thirsty 
wells  of  her  soul. 

It  was  impossible  for  her  not  to  realize 
what  she  was  called  upon  to  consider. 
There  was  something  in  the  situation  de- 
liciously  challenging,  a  something  which, 
forbidden  by  her  betrothal  to  Rayle,  yet 
demanded  the  tenderest  and  most  consid 
erate  treatment.  The  facts — she  could  not 
224 


deny  that  they  were  facts — tumbled  upon 
her  attention  by  Breyten  just  now  were 
not  new  to  her;  she  had  revolved  them 
innumerable  times  since  they  parted  at 
Hawford.  Not  that  she  gave  them  the 
meaning  that  he  insisted  upon.  She  gave 
them  no  meaning;  they  simply  haunted 
her  with  a  strange  composite  effect  at  once 
infinitely  saddening  and  indescribably 
sweet. 

"What  are  you  thinking?"  Breyten 
gently  demanded,  after  a  rather  long 
pause,  during  which  a  beautiful  landscape 
had  opened  on  one  bank  of  the  bayou. 

"How  pastoral  and  peaceful !  I  remem 
ber  that  house."  She  indicated  a  vener 
able  mansion  under  enormous  live-oak 
trees. 

The  boat,  as  if  attracted  by  the  cool 
shade,  the  wide  verandas,  and  the  idyllic 


225 


agricultural  scene  in  the  rear,  turned  its 
prow  towards  the  landing  at  the  place. 

"I  should  love  to  live  there,  a  long,  un 
eventful,  dreamy  life,"  Rosalynde  added. 
"What  could  be  more  reposeful,  more  like 
what  poets  describe  when  they  want  to 
make  you  discontented  with  your  lot?" 

"I'll  buy  it  for  you,  if  you'll  live  there 
with  me,"  he  said,  with  the  eagerness  of 
a  boy  who  begs  for  something  that  has 
been  denied  him.  "I'll  buy  anything, 
everything  you  want, — a  palace.  You 
have  but  to  ask." 

Her  face  paled :  she  turned  upon  him 
eyes  full  of  earnest  beseeching. 

"Do  not  talk  like  that,  I  beg  of  you," 
she  said,  gently  but  firmly.  "You  for- 
get." 

"No,  I  do  not  forget ;  I  remember  clear 
ly,"  he  insisted;  "but  what  of  it?  Rosa 
lynde—" 

226 


She  stopped  him  with  a  gesture  and  an 
air  of  absolute  command.  It  was  a  reve 
lation  of  that  in  her  character  which  there 
tofore  had  been  veiled  from  him. 

"I  am  Alfred  Rayle's  promised  wife," 
she  said.  "There  is  nothing  to  add  to  the 
simple  statement.  You  know  it  as  well 
as  I." 

In  that  moment,  at  those  words,  his 
heart  sank,  but  he  fought  hard  and  held 
his  head  high.  Defeat  seemed  impossi 
ble.  He  must  not  force  fate ;  time  and  the 
weight  of  events  might  yet  win  for  him 
all  that  now  seemed  impossible,  for  there 
was  no  doubting  the  immovable,  albeit 
hauntingly  gentle  and  inscrutable,  expres 
sion  in  her  face.  And  yet  he  felt  a  deep, 
heart-pervading  intimation  from  her  eyes 
and  from  the  undertones  of  her  voice  that 
she  was  repressing  and  trying  to  smother 
what  she  really  had  let  kindle  in  her  soul 
227 


for  him.     But  she  had  put  him  to  the 
crucial  test. 

"If  you  really  love  Alfred  Rayle  and  do 
not  love  me,  that  is  the  end,"  he  said. 
"I  followed  you  here  not  to  try  to  change 
your  love,  but  to  prove  it.  My  love  for 
you  could  not  let  me  believe  that  you  did 
not  love  me.  I  can  not  realize  it  now; 
but  if  it  is  so,  if  you  love  Rayle  and  not 
me,  it  is  my  load,  and  I  must  carry  it." 

His  face  shone  white  through  the 
bronze :  there  was  a  look  in  his  splendid 
eyes  that  tortured  every  string  of  her 
heart. 

He  rose  and  stood  for  a  moment  in  si 
lence.  Far  away  somewhere  a  boat-horn 
sounded  a  long,  plaintive  strain. 

"I  see  that  I  have  done  wrong,"  he  said. 
"Forgive  me ;  lay  it  to  my  ignorance.  I 
never  loved  before;  it  has  conquered  me 
wholly." 

228 


She  sat  silent,  and  he  added  in  a  tone 
that  labored  with  a  tremendous  reserve 
of  feeling : 

"If  this  is  the  end,  there  is  no  more 
life  for  me;  but  I  will  not  annoy  you.  I 
— "  He  passed  his  hand  over  his  fore 
head  and  looked  bewildered.  Then,  ral 
lying,  he  tried  to  smile  in  his  old  joyous 
way,  and  said :  "I  believe  I  am  not  well 
— a  trifle  dizzy.  It's  nothing;  it  will 
pass."  But  he  dropped  rather  heavily 
into  his  chair,  as  a  very  tired  man  might 
have  done.  But  he  mastered  himself  be 
fore  Rosalynde  could  fairly  understand, 
and  now  he  had  to  assume  a  cheerful 
mood,  for  Dr.  Banderet  came  to  join  them 
and  had  thought  of  another  excellent 
story. 

The  voyage  on  the  Teche  lasted  two 
days  without  further  incident  worth  re 
cording.  Rosalynde  and  Breyten  con- 
229 


versed  brokenly,  meeting  and  separating 
capriciously ;  Dr.  Banderet  gradually  com 
pleted  his  cycle  of  stories  and  cheerfully 
set  out  on  the  second  round.  At  last  it 
was  all  over,  and  the  little  party  again 
set  foot  in  the  hotel  at  New  Iberia. 
Next  morning  Dr.  Banderet's  business 
claimed  him,  and  Rosalynde  was  whisked 
away  by  a  matronly  friend,  whose  home 
on  the  outskirts  of  the  town  looked  old 
enough  and  quaint  enough  to  date  back 
to  the  davs  of  French  supremacy. 

Breyten  lingered  and  waited.  Why 
did  he  linger  ?  What  was  he  waiting  for  ? 
There  was  no  reason ;  there  was  no  expec 
tation.  Still,  he  lingered  and  waited,  a 
mere  lounger  at  the  hotel. 

When  Dr.  Banderet's  affairs  were  at 

last  arranged  to  his  liking,   he  brought 

Rosalynde  back  to  the  hotel,  and  the  three 

dined    together    upon    delicious    French 

230 


dishes  and  notably  excellent  French 
wines.  Of  course,  some  stories  by  the 
doctor  added  pleasantness  to  the  occa 
sion. 

Next  morning,  while  they  were  making 
ready  to  take  the  return  train  to  New  Or 
leans,  Angelie's  letter  arrived.  Dr.  Band- 
eret  was  out  attending  to  some  final  de 
tails,  and  Breyten  came  into  the  little  par 
lor  just  as  Rosalynde  made  an  end  of 
reading  her  cousin's  romantic  prattle. 
Her  face  was  lit  with  excitement  when  she 
looked  up  at  him. 

"You  did  not  tell  me  that  Alfred — that 
Mr.  Rayle  was  in  New  Orleans,"  she  said 
with  reproachful,  almost  bitter,  emphasis. 

"You  have  a  letter?"  he  inquired,  mean 
ing  one  from  Rayle. 

"Yes,"  she  said. 

"Then  he  has  told  you,  and  I  am  not 
bound  to  keep  his  secret  longer.  I  could 
231 


not  tell  you,  because  he  made  me  promise 
not  to.  I  have  felt  the  wrong  of  it,  but  I 
had  promised  him.  Forgive  me.  I  am 
sorry."  . 

She  stood  a  moment,  hesitating;  then 
she  handed  Breyten  the  letter. 

"Read  it,"  she  said,  "and  tell  me  what 
it  means." 

While  his  glance  ran  over  the  clear,  ele 
gant,  yet  girlish  writing,  Rosalynde 
watched  him  in  a  state  of  breathless  sus 
pense.  She  knew  and  she  did  not  know 
what  the  worst  meaning  of  Angelie's  tan 
talizing  obscurity  might  be,  and  a  great 
sense  of  impending  disaster  bore  upon 
her. 

"Humph !"  muttered  Breyten,  more  to 
himself  than  to  her.  "\Yhat  a  fool !  How 
absurd !"  Then  he  handed  the  letter  back 
to  her. 

A  wave  of  his  old  impulsive  generosity 
232 


swept  through  him.  He  looked  into  her 
troubled  eyes,  and  with  a  cheerful  smile 
said  :  "It's  nothing  serious.  I'll  straighten 
it  all  out.  Don't  worry  in  the  least  about 
it." 

He  sat  down  at  a  table  and  drew  forth 
pen  and  a  little  writing  pad. 

"I  know  what  to  do,"  he  added,  and 
laughed. 

What  he  wrote  was  a  telegraphic  mes 
sage  in  cipher  to  his  agent  in  New  York. 

"Send  by  wire  to  Alfred  Rayle  order 
for  five  thousand  dollars  through  New 
Orleans  National  Bank.  Utmost  de 
spatch.  Absolute  secrecy.  Notify  Rayle 
at  .  -  Hotel" 

He  went  out  and  sent  away  the  mes 
sage,  returning  in  ten  minutes.  She  was 
waiting  for  him,  but  she  appeared  not  in 
the  least  reassured.  A  new  trouble  had 
been  added  to  her  eyes  during  his  absence, 
233 


for  she  had  been  rapidly  thinking  over 
many  things  in  the  past  and  coupling 
them  with  what  had  just  transpired.  She 
advanced  a  step  to  meet  him  and  said : 
"What  have  you  been  doing  ?  You  have 

sent  him  money.     It  is  all  wrong.     You 

» 

"Wait/'  he  gently  interrupted;  "do  not 
make  a  hasty  judgment;  it  is  never  safe. 
It  will  be  time  to  make  up  your  mind 
when  everything  is  clear  to  your  vision 
after  all  excitement  has  passed." 

He  looked  to  her  just  as  when  he  stood 
on  the  bridge  that  first  day,  smiling  at 
her  in  the  light  that  followed  the  storm. 
Somehow  his  words  and  his  manner  tem 
pered  her  distress.  She  felt  imperiously 
compelled  to  rely  upon  him.  He  seemed 
able  to  do  anything  great  that  he  desired 
to  do. 

Dr.  Banderet  came  in  with  a  bustling 
234 


air.  They  would  have  to  make  haste  or 
lose  the  train. 

"Good-by,  then,"  said  Breyten,  offering 
Rosalynde  his  hand.  "I  am  going  on  to 
Mexico.  Our  voyage  was  an  experience 
that  I  shall  never  forget.  I  say  good-by 
with  a  pang." 

She  gave  him  her  hand. 

"Why,  my  dear  sir,"  exclaimed  Dr. 
Banderet, — "my  dear  sir,  this  is  sudden; 
we  had  counted  upon  your  returning  with 
us." 

"Yes,  it  is  rather  sudden,  a  sort  of  sur 
prise  to  myself;  but  I  am  a  creature  of 
whims.  I  have  thought  of  Mexico  for 
a  long  while,  and  now  that  I  seem  near 
its  border,  the  impulse  comes  upon  me  to 
go.  But  you  will  miss  your  train  through 
being  kind  to  me.  Good-by,  Miss  Band 
eret;  good-by,  doctor." 

"You  \von't  be  always  in  Mexico,"  said 
235 


Dr.  Banderet,  already  hurrying  Rosa- 
lynde  away,  and  speaking  cordially  back 
over  his  shoulder.  "You'll  be  in  New 
Orleans  on  your  return  trip.  Come  right 
to  my  house." 

When  Rosalynde  turned  at  the  door 
and  gave  Breyten  a  quick  glance,  he 
thought  he  saw  tears  shining  in  her  eyes. 


236 


-•—'  'i&*z X"     >' 


£P*' 


(9i\e 

Breyten  went  to  Mexico  and  wandered 
somewhat  perfunctorily  for  a  space  of  five 
or  six  months  in  a  mood  not  conducive  to 
perfect  comfort. 

He  kept  Angelie's  photograph, — he 
could  not  separate  it  from  his  dream  of 
Rosalynde, — and  one  seeing  him  gazing 
upon  it  would  have  suspected  him  of  pray 
ing  to  it ;  but  sentimental  as  all  this  may 
seem,  he  lost  no  sleep,  kept  a  great  appe 
tite,  flourished  physically,  and  read  the 
home  newspapers  whenever  he  could  get 
hold  of  them. 

237. 


He  was  on  the  point  of  embarking  at 
Vera  Cruz  for  Havre  when  the  item  of 
news  for  which  he  seemed  to  have  been 
long  looking  fell  under  his  eyes.  It  was 
in  a  New  Orleans  Sunday  paper,  just  five 
weeks  old: 

"Mr.  Alfred  Rayle  and  his  wife  have 
gone  to  Haw  ford,  Indiana,  for  a  month's 
visit." 

Breyten  read  the  item  over  and  over, 
but  somehow  he  could  not  realize  its  fact. 
Presently  he  flung  down  the  paper  with 
an  impatient  gesture,  and  laughed  as  one 
does  who  is  proof  against  the  little  annoy 
ances  that  printed  matter  occasionally 
swarms  with. 

"I've  looked  for  it  diligently  enough, 
expected  it  confidently  enough,  and  pre 
pared  myself  for  it  carefully  enough,"  he 
reflected,  "so  that  it  means  nothing — ab- 


238 


solutely  nothing — to  me,  now  that  I've 
found  it." 

Breyten  went  bowling  across  the  seas 
to  France.,  There  he  made  persistent  ef 
forts  to  regain  his  lost  way  of  life.  First 
he  tried  interesting  himself  in  books,  art, 
the  theaters,  and  the  streets  of  Paris ;  then 
he  ran  up  to  Switzerland  and  gave 
his  muscles  free  play  among  the  gla 
ciers.  It  was  but  mechanical  exercise, 
not  recreation;  the  old  idyllic  joy  would 
not  return.  He  began  to  wonder  how  he 
had  ever  cared  so  much  for  what  now 
seemed  idle  and  empty,  a  mere  vagrant's 
mood,  of  which  a  man  ought  to  be 
ashamed.  But  what  was  worth  while, 
then  ? 

He  lingered  here  and  yonder  on  his 

slow  way.     He  spent  the  winter  in  the 

Riviera,  dreaming  of  the  Teche,  knowing 

all  the  time  that  sooner  or  later  he  was  go- 

239 


ing  back  to  Haw  ford  on  a  bicycle  by  way 
of  the  bridge  where  he  had  first  met  Rosa- 
lynde.  And  promptly,  early  in  May,  he 
was  there,  but  the  old  wooden  span  had 
been  torn  away  to  give  place  to  a  patent 
one  of  iron. 

It  was  growing  dusk  when  he  reached 
the  hotel  at  Haw  ford. 

"Hello!"  said  the  smiling,  fat  clerk,  in 
stantly  recognizing  him,  "glad  to  see  you, 
Mr.  Breyten.  You  can  have  the  same 
rooms.  You  are  looking  fine.  Been 
growing,  haven't  you  ?" 

Breyten  generalized  vaguely  and  gen 
ially  in  response  to  this  unexpected 
warmth.  He  would  have  liked  to  ask  in 
numerable  questions,  all  tending  to  one 
object — Rosalynde.  For,  in  spite  of  what 
he  knew  to  the  contrary,  he  could  think 
of  her  only  as  living  yonder  in  the  old 
gray  home  among  the  trees.  Presently 
240 


he  would  go  up  there  and  see  her;  she 
would  be  walking  in  the  broad  way  be 
tween  the  gate  and  the  house,  and  an  ab 
surd  little  dog  with  a  ribbon  around  its 
neck  would  be  trotting  along  ahead  of 
her. 

"When  you  got  jammed  up  so  on  your 
bicycle  that  time,  I  never  expected  that 
I'd  see  you  flying  around  again.  You're 
entirely  well  of  it?" 

"Yes,  thank  you,  quite  well." 

"The  young  lady  came  out  mighty 
lucky." 

"And  how  is  she?"  Breyten  could  not 
control  his  desire.  The  question  was 
asked  automatically. 

"Don't  know ;  well,  I  guess.  The  fam 
ily  have  just  come  up  from  New  Orleans ; 
going  to  spend  the  summer  here.  I 
haven't  seen  any  of  'em  yet." 

Breyten  turned  abruptly  and  followed 
241 


the  servant,  who  led  the  way  to  his  room. 
He  walked  briskly  and  appeared  to  be 
alert,  self-contented,  happy;  but  he  felt 
heavy  and  listless ;  he  could  not  think 
clearly,  and  every  fiber  of  his  body  seemed 
strained  to  the  point  of  lesion. 

He  dined  heartily,  for  his  heavy  exer 
cise  awheel  had  given  him  a  sharp  appe 
tite,  though  he  was  not  tired.  At  eight  of 
the  Hawford  Court  House  steeple  clock 
he  went  out  into  the  moonlight  night. 

He  reflected :  "I  shall  go  for  a  look  at 
the  house  where  I  lay  so  long.  And  it 
seems  but  yesterday,  yet  like  a  century 
too,  since  she  read  to  me  and  I  gazed  at 
her  through  half-closed  eyes.  Just  a  look 
at  the  old  house,  and  then — : 

In  front  of  the  Banderet  horpestead 
Breyten  stood  up  firmly,  straight  and  tall, 
while  a  figure  moved  down  the  walk 


242 


towards  him;  a  gray,   slender,   graceful 
form,  leading  a  little  child. 

One  glance  assured  him ;  it  was  Rosa- 
lynde.  Suddenly  he  felt  perfectly  master 
of  himself.  There  was  but  one  thing  to 
do,  and  he  was  glad  and  eager  to  do  it. 
Of  course,  he  had  no  time  to  reason  it  out 
with  himself,  but  the  gist  of  it  was: 
"Here  she  comes.  It  is  Mrs.  Rayle  now, 
a  happy  little  wife.  Clearly  all  that  I've 
got  to  do  is  to  shake  hands  with  her,  be 
glad  to  see  her,  be  invited  in,  talk  with 
Rayle,  and  go  away." 

When  Breyten  opened  the  gate  the  fig 
ure  was  less  than  ten  paces  distant,  and  at 
the  click  of  the  latch  it  stopped  quite  still. 
With  quick  steps  he  approached  and  held 
out  his  hand. 

"Do  you  forgive  a  friend,  Mrs.  Rayle, 
the  liberty  of  taking  you  unawares?"  His 
voice  was  not  so  steady,  after  all. 
243 


"Mr.  Breyten !" 

"Mrs.  Rayle." 

"You  are  mistaken.  Mrs.  Rayle  is 
away;  but  I  am  glad  to  see  you." 

She  took  his  hand :  he  stood  looking 
hard  at  her.  Surely  it  was  Rosalynde, 
pale,  radiant,  glad,  gazing  up  into  his 
questioning  eyes. 

The  little  child,  daughter  of  a  neighbor, 
slipped  aside  and  ran  away. 

Breyten  put  on  a  great  spurt  of  shrewd 
ness  ;  the  flash  of  comprehensive  retrospect 
that  comes  to  a  drowning  man  was  giving 
him  full  explanation  of  his  mistake.  He 
recollected  that  the  photograph  was  of 
Rosalynde's  cousin,  Miss  Angelie  Bande- 
ret.  To  be  sure. 

He  laughed  and  said  : 

'The  moonlight  deceived  me ;  I  thought 
you  were  Rosalynde — Mrs.  Rayle." 


244 


"Come  into  the  house  with  me,  where 
the  light  is  better,"  she  said. 

"You  are  Miss  Angelie  Banderet?" 

"No,  I  am  Rosalynde." 

He  stopped  as  if  frozen. 

"Then — then,"  he  stammered,  "then 
you  are  Mrs.  Rayle." 

"No.  I  am  Rosalynde  Banderet." 
There  was  a  decided  accent  of  disap 
proval,  as  well  as  denial,  in  her  voice.  "I 
do  not  like  the  humor  of  what  you  say." 
She  made  a  gesture  of  disappointment, 
and  stood  as  if  waiting  for  him  to  make 
amends. 

"Rosalynde — Rosalynde — what  are  you 
saying  to  me  ?  What  do  you  mean  ?" 

Something  behind  his  faltering  words 
indicated  whole  volumes  of  inexpressible 
suspense,  doubt,  hope,  trembling  expecta 
tion. 

"I  do  not  understand  you,"  she  said, 
245 


visibly  quivering  from  head  to  foot,  for 
she  was  beginning  to  suspect  the  truth. 
He  did  not  comprehend  that  it  was  An- 
gelie  who  became  Mrs.  Rayle. 

As  for  him,  he  caught  the  truth  at  that 
moment,  as  if  it  had  been  revealed  by  a 
divine  light.  He  saw  a  flash  of  electrical 
splendor,  like  that  away  back  yonder  un 
der  the  old  bridge  on  the  day  he  first  saw 
her. 

"You  did  not  marry  Rayle,"  he  cried 
in  a  low,  glad  voice.  "Rosalynde !  Rosa- 
lynde!  You  did  not — did  you?" 

"No,"  she  said,  from  somewhere  deep 
in  his  arms.  It  was  like  the  cry  of  a  bird 
reveling  in  foliage  so  densely  rich  that 
the  luxury  was  well-nigh  overpowering. 

"No,"  he  repeated  after  her;  "no,  no!" 

The  spring  wind  was  merry  in  the 
young  leaves  overhead.  From  the  house 
a  violin's  notes  trembled  forth,  deliciously 
246 


— "  No,"  she  said  from  somewhere 
deep  in  his  arms 


tender  and  sweet ;  it  was  Mrs.  Banderet 
playing  the  doctor's  favorite  lyric.  Then 
a  small  object  came  ambling  down  the 
walk  and  frisked  and  barked  as  if  its 
whole  life  depended  upon  noise  and  mo 
tion;  but  it  received  not  the  slightest  re 
gard;  its  mistress  did  not  even  see  it  or 
hear  it. 

We  can  go  no  further.  Marriage  is 
not  the  end  of  love,  but  it  is  the  true  end 
cf  a  love-story;  and  this  is  only  a  love- 
story. 


a 


*e« 


***** 


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